I didn't mean to fall from grace
by me.fergie
Summary: "Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." Khalil Gibran. The childhood and youth of Jim Moriarty.
1. The innocent can never last

Here I am. Back with a new story. Now, the story is not that progressed so far, so I warn you beforehand updates might take a little longer. Just so you know.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing so far. Sherlock Holmes belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, this Sherlock we're dealing with here to the BBC. The title of the story is taken from The Pussycat Dolls Song _Halo_, the title of the prologue from Green Day's _Wake me up when September ends_. I'm not making any profit using any of this, so don't sue me.

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**Prologue: The innocent can never last**

_"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." _Khalil Gibran

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_Clammy. _That was the only adjective Jim could think of to describe the atmosphere that reigned in 221 C Baker Street. No wonder nobody wanted to live here: it smelled of mould, death and decay. Jim found it very fitting for what he felt inside as he opened the plastic bag that he was carrying and brought out a pair of shoes; after all, he had gotten them from a pool, a place just as clammy and mould infected as this one. Leaving them here would complete the circle in a very nice way. He knelt down, not minding the dirt that would stain his jeans; it was where he came from, and, although he generally covered it up, since it was nobody's business but his, he wasn't afraid to face the dirt, face his past. It was what had made him, created him, turned him into the man he was now.

Almost tenderly, Jim ran his fingers over the trainers, twirling the white laces between them. His biggest triumph. People always said that the first murder was the hardest, the first cut the deepest. Jim had to respectfully disagree. If his first murder had been the most difficult, it had only been so because of the time and effort it had taken, not because of regrets or so. He had never regretted killing him. _Him_. It had been rewarding. Gone were the pain filled days, over were the tear filled nights. But none of it was ever forgotten. Till today, Jim shuddered sometimes at the memories of his past when they came haunting him at night, and yes, he always felt a twinge of pain whenever he uttered his tormentor's name. _Carl Powers_. Even now, he felt it, as he turned to the door and left the shoes behind. They had been in his possession for twenty years now; it felt weird, giving them up now, parting with the only physical trophy he had ever kept. But it was necessary. Necessary for his plan to make Sherlock notice him. He felt empty, somehow. Although he had enough to remind him of this time; scars, foremost. And of course the image of _Carl Powers _drowning in the pool, the best swimmer of the school, dying in the water. And that image would never fate. He only had to close his eyes to see it, so real that he could smell the chlorine. He shook his head. _Time to leave, Jim. _But as he wrapped his hand around the doorknob, he suddenly started to tremble. He turned, watching the shoes again. Suddenly, in the clammy air of this room, the memories came crushing down on him again, so powerful that for a second he felt his knees give in. He let them. He let the memories invade his brain without pushing them away. They would come back anyways, and, now was as good a time as any other.

Jim Moriarty used to be a happy child. Loved by his parents, happy in the city that meant the world to him, in the country he felt so deeply attached to. He was innocent, back then. But the innocent can never last. Not when they are put through hell. And then through some more. Because Carl Powers wasn't the only one putting James Moriarty through hell.

Some people are born only to suffer.

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So yeah, it's going to be a rather sad and brutal story. There's a few things I'm not entirely sure about so far, as in, should I bring in Sebastian (and his sister), sort of using the childhood plot I scraped in _All you gotta do is cross the line_? I'd be happy to hear your opinions on it. And, please, I don't wanna whine, but remember how much your comments mean to all the writers posting their stories here. So, join the review revolution and leave them comments.


	2. Too proud to leave

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One. Title from this chapter taken from Billy Joel's _The Downeaster 'Alexa'. _  
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Warnings: mentions of death, rape, child abuse._  
_

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**Chapter One: Too proud to leave I worked my fingers to the bone  
**

_Dublin_… James Moriarty loved his city. Already at a young age, he felt so at ease, so at home, amongst all the hard working people. His father, Sean Moriarty, had told him already early in his life how important it was to be proud of one's own roots. Especially when you were Irish. The whole history of Ireland… how could you not be proud of it? When James was young, really young, his father, the rare times when he was not working his fingers to the bone, would, as bedtime stories, tell him about the history of his country, the fight for independence… James loved those stories. He imagined heroes, fighting against Henry VIII. with all they had to defend their home country. Just like his da had fought. Not in the wars, mind you. At least not the big ones. He had his own little war to fight. Love. Of course, what else? And why would anyone have to fight for love in Ireland? Exactly.

Sean Moriarty was a protestant, who just happened to fall in love with the Baker's daughter, Jamie Murphy. A catholic. Both didn't care much for the other's religion. Yet, Jamie's father wasn't happy about his daughter's choice, and threw her out the day he found out whom she was seeing. Sean then took Jamie home to his family, convinced they would welcome the charming young girl with open arms. Alas, they didn't. And Sean did what he later would consider the best choice in his life. He moved out, taking Jamie with him. A friend of his mother offered them a small room so they wouldn't have to live on the street. Sean worked hard, trying to make a living so Jamie would be alright. But she didn't care much for money either. Love in its purest form, it was. And then, one day, Jamie told her husband (they never married, but she would frequently refer to him as her husband) that she was pregnant. An accident. But neither of them minded it; they were just too happy about the blessing of getting a child.

And when little James was born, named after his mother, they couldn't have been luckier. He was healthy, despite the fact that their home was cold and their food sparse. He grew up to be a teenager; a happy teenager, loved deeply by his parents, intelligent, and very handsome. His father's mirror; the same black hair, the same deep brown eyes. The main difference between them was in build: while Sean was a tall and sturdy man, steeled by hard work, James had entirely inherited the grace of his mother; he was short, slight in build, and soft. Whenever Sean would look at him, he would see his wife. Whenever Jamie looked at her son, she would see her husband. The man who loved her so much that he would name his son after her. Who loved her so much that he broke with his entire family just to be with her. And she could see in his, no, their son's eyes, that he loved his mother just as much as Sean loved his wife.

Which was why it broke her to look at Jim when suddenly Sean died. Why anyone would try to mug a man who so obviously hadn't much was beyond their understanding. Why they beat him to death after the failed robbery even more. Apparently it was so bad that police wouldn't let his wife identify the body (later on, when Jim was already Jim Moriarty, not yet famous but already influential, and worked in the IT Department of St. Bart's, he would hack into the Scotland Yard Network to take a look at the pictures. He owed that much to his beloved father, he felt. If by that time he still had an ounce of sanity left, it vanished that very moment).

Jim's mother took matters into her own hands. Instead of grieving too much, she started looking for a job only days after Sean's death. The problem was that no one could look after Jim. No one wanted. So she abandoned her pride and started selling her body at night, so that at least during the day, she could be at home, caring for her son.

But when Jim was sixteen, something happened. A client, Marlon Brook, fell in love with Jamie, and wanted her to be his wife. Jamie however, even years after Sean died, still couldn't imagine loving another man, and refused him. He didn't take it well. He found out where she lived, broke into her home one night when she stayed at home to look after Jim who was down with a severe case of the flu. That night, Brook raped her four times. Her spirits where broken; she agreed to marry him.

Brook hated Jim from the very first moment on. How could he not; Jim was still the spitting image of his father. The man Jamie still loved. He would never entirely win over his wife's heart as long as she was reminded of her Sean almost daily. And the fact that Jim hated him back with passion did nothing to ease things in the Brook household. More than once already in the first week, they bumped heads, which ended in Jim unconscious on the floor, knocked out by a punch straight to the jaw. At the beginning, Jamie went in between, trying to protect her son. But after she received a severe beating herself, Jim implored his mother to just let him deal with it. She complied, not without begging her son though to not provoke the man. However, Brook noticed very fast that this was the only way to control Jim; threatening to hurt his mother.

And Jim knew he knew, so he kept quiet. He didn't say a word when Brook decided Jim would sleep in the basement from now on, too afraid the kid would strangle him in his sleep. When Jim heard the key turn around in the lock the first night, he didn't even mention it to his mother. Jim never complained when the man belittled him, insulting his roots and commenting on his accent. He didn't defend himself when Brook dragged him to the hairdresser and had the mob of black hair sheared off, just so Jim wouldn't look like his deceased father so much. Only at night, when he ran his hand over his head, Jim shed one or two tears, feeling like he lost his father all over again. The next day, he was back to his indifferent self.

And Brook hated him even more. Was there nothing he could do to finally break the kid? Maybe make him run away, or, better, make him take his own life? Something along those lines. He was afraid of Jim, he had to admit. The unbroken hatred in the boy's eyes. He couldn't believe somebody could be so full of hatred at such a young age. He needed to get rid of him. Or at least break his spirits.

He started to starve him. Two slices of bread and a bottle of water, every day. It would weaken him considerably, so that, if Jim ever decided to put up a fight, he wouldn't be strong enough to overpower him. Jim, who was used to not having a feast every day, didn't mind it all that much. If only the bread weren't two days old. He just hoped his mother got more to eat. He found out when one night, she sneaked down to the basement, opened the door, and brought him a bowl of still lukewarm soup, hugging him and apologizing for the mess they were in. She did her best to supply him with food at least twice a week. Until Brook noticed it. He broke her wrist and delivered blows to her face. The screams of his mother alarmed Jim, who, despite knowing what it could mean for him, picked the lock of the door (he had figured out how that worked on the second day of his captivity), raced up the stairs, and jumped in between Brook, who had his hand raised for another strike, and his mother. He took the blow and landed on the floor, with blood protruding from his nose and spots in his vision. But there was no holding back now for Brook. He grabbed Jim by his arm and dragged him back into the basement. There, he trashed Jim with his belt until the only sound Jim could utter was a whimper. Then he used his bloodied belt to tie Jim's hands to the heater, and left him there for the night. Jim didn't find sleep that night. With his back on fire and the belt cutting into his wrist, he just lay there, hoping that at least Brook would leave his mother alone now. The screams from the bedroom told him otherwise.

It was enough, Brook decided. It was time to show his power. So the next day, he put up the "For Sale" sign in front of the house. By the end of the week, the house was sold for half its value. The family moved to Brighton, Sussex. He would make sure his wife didn't make any friends there. She would be all alone. As for Jim… an Irish kid in an English School? He would soon learn the real hardships of life. And hopefully the cruel kids in school would break him. Brook didn't like to get his fingers dirty. Especially not for Jim.

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**Nasty stuff.**


	3. Am I bright enough to shine

****So, I decided to bring Sorcha and Sebastian in. Those of you who have read _All you gotta do is cross the line_ will know her. Frankly, I feel that poor Jim could use a few friends, it will make the story longer, and establish the connection with Sebastian. So yeah, there you go. OC.

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one. Title from this chapter is from _All the right moves _by One Republic.

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**Chapter Two: Am I bright enough to shine in your spaces?  
**

Jim eyed the building suspiciously. It looked different from his school in Dublin. Cleaner, somehow. Not that his school in Dublin was dirty. Clean was maybe the wrong word. Fancy? He guessed he had to give some credit to Brook; at least the man didn't send him to some crappy school. Of course he wouldn't. Reputation and all. Why else would he buy those fancy dresses for Jim's mother if not to show her off? And people like the people living here in England apparently didn't notice the vacant look in Jamie's eyes. Or they just pretended they didn't. Jim sighed deeply. This wasn't going to be fun. He could feel it. At least the uniform he was wearing looked decent enough. All black and grey, except for the white shirt. If only he could let his hair grow back. But as soon as it had grown an inch, Brook had him shear it off again. He was the only one wearing his hair like that, he noticed with a quick glance over the school yard where the students were slowly gathering. All in small groups, of course. It wouldn't be easy to find new friends. Back in Dublin… He shook his head; he had to stop thinking about Dublin every time he was nervous. It wouldn't help him the least bit.

What didn't help either was the tall, blond boy who stood about two meters away from him, chatting with a girl. With the thickest Irish accent imaginable. Limerick, Jim was pretty sure. And the boy didn't even try to hide it. Neither did the girl. Siblings, obviously. Jim wouldn't have needed the accent to tell him that. Both were tall, the boy huge. Both had the same way of standing there, hands placed on the hips. The same shade of dirty blonde hair. Only the eyes were different. The boy's eyes were a dark brown, his sister's much lighter.

Now the girl had noticed him, and nudged her brother. He turned his head towards Jim, "What's the matter with you? What are you looking at?"

Jim shook his head, "Nothing. I was just… nothing." He turned on his heel, walking in the other direction.

But he did not get far. The girl was suddenly by his side, chattering away, "I haven't seen you around here before. Are you a new student?"

"I am…" Jim answered.

"And you are from Dublin? I can hear it in your accent. We're from Ireland, too. Moved here about three years ago. My da always says that he doesn't want us to sound like the Brits. I'm Sorcha, by the way, Sorcha Moran." She extended her hand to him.

Jim took it, cautiously, "James Moriarty. But people call me Jim."

"Jim. So, when did you get here?"

Jim stopped in his tracks, "Look. I appreciate that you're trying to make me feel welcome. But I don't really need somebody to be nice to me just because I'm the new student and I happen to come from the same country as you do." He looked at the girl's puzzled face and added a low muttered, "I'm sorry." Then he left, leaving her standing there. He didn't know why exactly he had said that. Probably because he didn't want anybody getting too close. Friends would inevitably find out what was going on in his home, and he really didn't want that. Bad enough the neighbours knew. It would be better to not make any friends; Brook was sure to put them off him anyways.

But fate was a funny person. When Jim entered his new classroom, she was sitting there already, books propped up in front of her, scribbling on a piece of paper. Jim lowered his head and disappeared into the far away corner. She didn't even notice him. He sat down, placed his bag on the table and hid behind it as the classroom filled slowly, with all kinds of people. Some girl sat down next to Sorcha and started talking to her immediately. Suddenly, that girl turned around. Her eyes rested on the boy who sat two rows before Jim. She then nudged Sorcha, whispered something to her, picked up her bag again and sat down next to the boy. She started chatting with him immediately – did girls ever do anything else? – and scanned the classroom again.

Then she saw Jim, "Oh, look, a new student!" Everybody turned around. Jim felt completely exposed. And she didn't stop, "I'm Elizabeth Isitt. What's your name?"

Jim shifted in his seat. Everybody was now looking at him, judging him. Thank God there were no visible bruises anymore. He coughed and answered, "James Moriarty…"

The boy next to Elizabeth scoffed, "Not another mick."

"Oh, shut up, Eric." Elizabeth said. "We are supposed to be friendly to new students." She turned back to Jim, "I welcome you to this school. How are you doing?" She pronounced her words slowly, as if she was talking to a child, or a very dumb person. "I am sure you will like it here."

Jim arched an eyebrow, "I do speak English, you know."

There was a giggle from the first row. Sorcha. She had watched the exchange silently so far, but now she said, "She can't help it. She's cockney, they speak loik tha all the toim."

Elizabeth turned to Sorcha, "Shut up, Moron. It's not like _you_ sound very intelligent. Why do you sit there alone, anyways? Come on, be a nice fellow student and sit down next to… What was your name again?"

"James…" Jim murmured. But he had to admit he felt a slight relief when Sorcha sat down next to him a couple of seconds later.

She put her books before her again, "You mind? I was actually planning on sitting next to Liz, but apparently she favours Eric." Jim only shook his head. "Listen, I'm not only nice because you and I come from the same country. Although I guess it helped. But really, I am just a nice girl. And when I got here, Elizabeth was the one looking after me, so I know that you'll probably need a little… insider knowledge. Don't worry, they don't actually hate us here. Well, not everybody, at least…"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Jim didn't mean to sound rude, but she made him nervous.

She only gave him a smile and said, "Not as long as you don't. You know, when you're talking, I have to shut up. So, talk to me. Tell me something about you."

"There's not much to tell, really." Jim murmured. "I'm from Dublin."

"Yeah, I figured that much. Why did you move here?"

"My stepfather wanted us to move here."

"Why that, does he have a job here?"

Jim shook his head, "He didn't like Dublin. So he took me and my mam and moved here."

"How can somebody not like Dublin?" she sounded seriously offended. "Is he one of these posh Oxford people?"

"No, he's actually from Liverpool. Lived in Ireland for a few years, where he met my mam and… well, here we are." Jim shifted again in his seat. He felt uncomfortable talking about Brook. "So, Sorcha, right? It means bright and radiant, doesn't it?"

"Yah. My da gave me that name when I was born. Apparently my head was already full of thick, blonde hair. Like Seb's. Sebastian, my brother."

"The guy from earlier?" She nodded. "He looks quite intimidating."

"He's harmless. He just looks intimidating. He's one of the best swimmers in school. And he plays rugby. Do you play any sports?" Jim shook his head. "Oh well, that's going to change soon. They anything but force us here to indulge in a recreational activity. I have to go swimming too. I hate swimming."

_Swimming…_ Jim swallowed. It wasn't that he didn't like it. He was a decent swimmer, but with all the bruises and scars on his body…

Sorcha noticed something was wrong, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything alright… I'm not fond of swimming either."

She nodded, "I can understand." Then she paused before she said, "You actually talked. That's great." She nudged him, "So, what do you say, am I still that annoying now?"

Jim actually smiled a bit, "Nah, you're pretty okay. If you could just shut up sometimes."

"I'll have to, now. The teacher just got in." She pouted. "What do you say, let's spend lunch break together? I hear the swim team is already practising later today, we could go there and watch them."

Jim wanted to refuse at first; after all, he didn't want to make friends. Then again… he was just human. And after these last months where he had been all alone, in a city he didn't know a soul, with only his mother to utter a few nice words to him… he was desperate for a kind person to talk too.

So he nodded and said, "Yeah, that sounds nice. I don't have anything to eat, though."

"Don't worry about that. I have plenty. My mam apparently thinks I could use a few extra pounds."

"Miss Moran, would you be so kind as to stop talking? Or do I have to put you in detention already on the first day?" the teacher interrupted.

Sorcha made a grimace, but finally was silent.

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As always, reviews are much appreciated.


	4. I need a soldier

Wow, people, thank you so much for those amazing reviews**.  
**I'm a really happy bunny now. Not that this will change anything for Jim, though ;)

**DISCLAIMER: see chapter one. Chapter title from Destiny's Child's _Soldier._ **

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**Chapter 3: I need a soldier that ain't scared to stand up for me**

"I thought you said that you go swimming, too?" Jim said when he and Sorcha sat down next to the pool. "Why aren't you in there, then?"

"Are you mental?" Sorcha unwrapped a sandwich. "Cheese. Here, have some." She tossed it over to Jim and checked on the next one. "They want to be on the school team, that's why they practise from Day One. You know, trying to prove themselves before the newbies have figured out how to get onto the team. The YOUNG ONES!" she yelled the last part, having noticed that her brother was now approaching the pool. He made a grimace, but didn't say anything. He only made sure that he jumped into the pool close enough to his sister. "BASTARD!"

Jim watched the exchange with fascination, "You two seem to get along quite well?"

"We do. Although I sometimes have to remind him that I'm not a baby anymore and that I don't need his protection." She took a mouthful of her sandwich, "What about you, do you have siblings?" Jim shook his head. "So, it's just you, your mam and stepfather?" Jim nodded. "You don't like talking about your family, do you?" Jim shook his head. "You don't get on well, then, do you?" Again, he shook his head. "Oh, did you lose your voice again?" She tilted her head.

Jim sighed, "No, we don't get on well. He hates me, and I hate him even more, if that's any possible. But my mother is an angel. She deserves so much better."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Doesn't she see it that way, then?"

Jim bit his lip; he couldn't tell her the truth. "No, apparently not. I think she might think she can't get a better man. After… well, after my da died, she was left with nothing. I think she feels that he might be her last chance so we don't have to starve on the streets." Silence. Jim frowned and looked at Sorcha, who was chewing on her sandwich as if it were tough to chew. "What?"

"I feel bad. We've known each other for like five hours and I force you to tell me all about your life."

Jim shrugged, "I didn't have to tell you." He scratched his head. The hair was growing back, slowly, and it itched like hell. "Tell me about your family then. Any other siblings?"

"Nope, just Sebbie and me. My ma wanted a whole bunch of children, but my da felt that we could have a better life with only the four of us. So my ma doesn't have to work anymore."

"You must be very rich, then."

"I wouldn't say rich. We don't have to worry about anything, yeah, but it's not like we can afford everything we want. And they still want me and Sebbie to work during holidays so we learn the value of money."

"Sounds reasonable."

"It is. And we get to keep half of the money." She put her sandwich away. "You should probably stop scratching. You already left marks."

Jim shrugged again, "It's itching."

"Are you letting it grow back?" Jim shook his head. "Shame, I think it would look great. It's black, isn't it?" Jim nodded. "Oh, I have to stop asking 'Yes or No' questions. Why don't you let it grow back?"

Jim, before even thinking about it, answered, "My stepfather forces me to keep it like that because otherwise I look too much like my da…" He mentally slapped himself only seconds after he had said that. What the hell was it that made him just tell her things like that? Those innocently asked questions. He had to watch his mouth, or otherwise she would know his whole story after today.

What surprised him though was her reaction, "That must be the lowest thing I've ever heard of. This is terrible." She was really upset. "He must be a real bastard." Then she said, "You see that guy over there? My brother's biggest rival on the swim team. Carl Powers. That guy's a twat. Keep away from him."

Jim was thankful that she changed the subject so swiftly. "The tall one over there?" Carl Powers towered over the rest of the team. His hair was an even lighter shade of blonde than the Moran's, bleached by the sun. He was tanned and muscular. "I can imagine he's good at swimming."

"He's terrific. But it can't make up for his general… arseholeness."

Jim grinned, "What makes him such an arsehole, then?"

"Oh, everything. He's mean to Sebastian, and that's something I can't stand. He uses people and then leaves them once they can't do anything for him anymore. Besides, he hates anything Irish."

"He hates Irish people?"

"Yeah, he does. That's why I said, keep away from him." She sighed and lay down in the grass, but immediately got up again when there was a loud splash and she was soaked within seconds. "What the…? Sebastian!" But it wasn't Sebastian. It was Carl Powers. "Oh, you. Sod off."

"Why are you being so hostile, Moron? I thought we could make a fresh start. You know, new school year and all."

"Over my dead body. And stop calling me Moron. It's Moran. With an 'a'. 'A' as in 'arsehole'. Like you, you know?"

"Ouch." He grinned. "I'm going to kick your brother's arse later today. You want to watch?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world. Must be nice change for you for once, not being the one at the receiving end of a fist. How's daddy dear? Off the booze yet?"

The expression on Carl's face changed immediately; the smile was replaced by a grimace of hatred as he got out of the pool.

Jim worked on autopilot. Too often he had witnessed a scene like the one he knew would follow if he didn't do anything. He got up and moved so that he stood in front of Sorcha when Carl approached her. Never, never would any girl or woman get hurt while he was around. It was bad enough that he couldn't protect his own mother, but he would protect any other woman on this earth. And Sorcha seemed like a good start.

Only when Carl was standing right before him he noticed how huge the guy was. He looked down at Jim, "Who are you?"

"Jim Moriarty. Hi."

"Hi. Now, get out of my way, I have a thing to discuss with Moron."

"I think she said she doesn't want to be called that. And I think you should just go back into the pool."

"Or what?" Carl grinned. "You're gonna make me? Don't be ridiculous, mick. Now, beat it." Jim shook his head. "You're the new kid, aren't you? Do you really want to get trashed on your first day here?"

"I don't care, but you will not touch Sorcha." Jim clenched his fist, and noticed Carl Powers doing the same. He waited, patiently. Carl raised his arm.

And just as his fist flew towards Jim's face, Jim ducked. Carl missed, but the force he had put into his punch threw him off balance when he didn't hit his target. Jim didn't hesitate, and pushed Carl back into the pool. The onlookers laughed, as Carl reappeared on the surface, coughing. He got his composure back fast enough and got back out of the pool again, "That, my friend, was a mistake." He stomped back towards Jim, who raised his fists again.

But suddenly, Sebastian was there, pushing Carl back, "I think that's enough for now, Powers. Leave, before I trash you. I think you lost enough of your dignity today."

Carl, with a look that could only be described as outright mad, looked past Sebastian at Jim, "This isn't over, Moriarty. You have no idea what's in store for you. Better watch your back." He spat at Jim's feet and turned on his heel, jumped back into the pool and swam to the other side of it.

Sebastian turned around and pushed Jim out of his way, "How often do I have to tell you to not fight with Powers? You know he won't hesitate to beat a girl."

"How about you stop annoying me and thank Jim for stepping in? Because you were too damn slow, he had to do your job." Sorcha was just as angry as her brother.

Sebastian turned back to Jim and let his eyes wander over him. The kid was about half of Powers's size, as well in height as in built, and yet had without any hesitation stepped in front of Sorcha to protect her. She was right. "Jim, was it?" As Jim nodded, he continued, "Thank you for protecting my sister. That was quite a courageous thing to do. If Powers comes after you any time soon, tell me." He gave his sister a last glance and left.

Jim let out a breath, "That was pretty close…" He was interrupted by Sorcha who threw herself at him and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "What the…"

"Thank you. That was such a nice thing to do!" She beamed and immediately let a second kiss on his other cheek follow. "Thank you so much! What do you say, I invite you to a cup of coffee after school?"

"You… you really don't need to do that… Everybody would have done that…" He lowered his head, trying to hide the blush that appeared on his cheeks.

"That's what you say. Come on, Jim, let me offer you a coffee."

He shook his head, "That's really nice of you, but my stepfather will be angry if I don't get home immediately." He remembered the basement where he would probably have to do his homework, next to his bottle of water and the stale bread. It wasn't a nice prospect, but he was reluctant to leave his mother alone any more than absolutely necessary. "But really, I appreciate the offer."

Sorcha nodded, clearly disappointed, "Okay. I understand that, of course. But, if you ever feel like coffee, or maybe just a soda…"

Jim nodded, "I'll take you up on the offer again. Thank you." He gave her a brief smile, "Shall I get you a towel or something?"

"Thanks, but don't worry. The clothes will dry soon." She sighed. "Sorry. I really didn't want you to be in Carl Powers' focus that fast. He's going to be a total jerk to you from now on."

Jim shrugged, "It's okay, don't worry. I wouldn't want to be friends with him anyways." But he was very wary inside; it wasn't the first time he had to deal with people like Powers. There were boys like him in any school, and already in Dublin, some of them had liked to pick on him, be it for his lack in height or other things. When he was young, he dreaded going to school for these exact reasons. But when Brook got into his life, school suddenly didn't seem so bad anymore. If only because home was worse, and what the kids at school did or said to him didn't have that much of an impact anymore. And besides, back then he had a bunch of friends, so it wasn't all doom and gloom. And it seemed to be the same now. Sorcha was nice, and her brother was huge. And he had offered his help. So, how bad could it possibly become?

Oh, he had no idea.

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There he is. Carl Powers. And heroic Jim. I love heroic Jim. :)


	5. I run to the rock, please hide me

**DISCLAIMER:  
**see chapter One. Title from this chapter taken from Nina Simone's _Sinnerman._

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**Chapter Four: I run to the rock, please hide me**

The next day, Jim left house already before his mother or Brook were awake. Brook had not locked the door today, knowing he would probably still be asleep when Jim had to leave, and he didn't want him to be late. Of course, he had done so only after a hissed warning the night before. _I'll leave the door unlocked, but don't think for one second that you can come out and wander around the house. If I catch you outside the basement, I will cut your dear mother's face. And if you think of doing something to me, rest assured that I have people to take revenge. You wouldn't want to be an orphan now, would you? _Jim had only swallowed, assured Brook that he wouldn't move until it was time to go to school. The man had then, with a triumphant smile, patted Jim's head. _There's a good boy. _

But already at five A.M., Jim was wide awake, lying on his mattress and staring at the ceiling. He sighed, got up and got ready. At six A.M., he left the house. After all, Brook had only said he didn't want him wandering around the house. He would be glad if the kid was outside. So Jim wandered down to the beach, trying to kill time until school would start.

When finally it was time and he had arrived at school, he went to his locker, only to find that it seemed somehow blocked. He sighed and asked Liz, who was standing next to him, if she had a hairpin. She did. Picking locks with hairpins was no real challenge for Jim; the lock on his basement door was harder to open. A minute later, he had opened the locker, only to find out that its contents were gone.

He frowned and asked Liz, "Is it possible that the janitor moved my things because of the broken lock?"

She giggled, "Yeah, right. That's probably what happened. Aren't you sweet?" With that she left.

Jim remained standing in front of his empty locker. He had put around ten books in there. Nothing was left. Frustrated, he slammed the door shut and went to his classroom.

Sorcha was already there. She smiled when Jim got in, "Good morning."

Jim sat down next to her, "Nothing good about that morning so far."

"What's the matter?" She tilted her head.

"Somebody broke into my locker and nicked all of my stuff, apparently. On the second day. That must be a new record."

Sorcha sighed, "I'll talk to Sebastian. I'm sure this was Powers. What was it?"

"Books." Jim was beyond frustrated now.

"Don't worry, we'll get them back. And we'll get back at him. You can share my books for now. If the teacher asks, I forgot mine."

"You cannot take the blame for me…"

"Oh please. I think it might give Mrs. Miller a heart attack if I had all my stuff with me for once. Besides, you really don't want to be on her list already on your second day."

"No, bad enough I'm on Powers's list already." Jim said gloomily.

* * *

During lunch break, Sorcha went to look for Sebastian. Jim, who sat down on a bench in the courtyard, going over his notes, thought that she might have run off when she came back with an plastic bag holding his books. She placed them next to Jim on the bench. "Sebastian found them in the toilet this morning. Next to their classroom." She sighed, "I have to say they're a bit damaged… Sorry."

Jim shook his head, "Not your fault. Give me the bag." She handed it over to him. The stench was awful. "You brother doesn't happen to have his old books anymore?"

"No, he left them to me. Sorry."

"It's okay. I'll just… clean them or something. Are you sure this was Powers?"

"Seb is going to find that out. Maybe he can… convince… Carl to give you his old books."

"No need to. I don't want anything from him. I'd rather work with these." He put the bag at a short distance from himself and went back to his notes.

* * *

Later that day, Jim sat in the bathroom of their house and rinsed the books carefully. He knew he couldn't get rid of all the urine that had soaked the pages, but he could at least try. Day one: Almost getting punched by Carl Powers. Day Two: a broken locker and people urinating on his books. Thank God he didn't put his PE gear in there already.

The front door opened. Jim could hear Brook, his voice thundering in the house. His mother didn't say anything. He hoped she was alright. He had no idea where the two had been. Probably shopping. Brook had probably picked out a dress for his mother again, to show her off to his friends. _Bastard_.

He heard Brook screaming, "Get into the bedroom and get ready! The black one! Tight! I'll be there in ten minutes!" Then the bathroom door opened. Jim mentally slapped himself for not having locked it. But then Brook would have freaked out, too.

Now, he stood in the doorframe, looking at Jim, "What are you doing there?"

Jim shrugged, "Cleaning my books."

"And why were they dirty?"

"Long story."

"Tell me."

Jim shook his head; no way he would tell Brook what had happened. To see that satisfaction in his eyes was more than Jim could possibly endure. So he just turned his head away and went on with his task.

But Brook suddenly grabbed his neck and pulled him of the edge of the tub, "I want an answer, Jim. NOW!" Jim didn't answer. "Do I have to take out my belt?"

"I have PE tomorrow…" Jim moaned as the grip on his neck tightened.

"Well, then either tell me what the fuck you're doing there, or think of a good excuse. What's it gonna be, Jim?"

That wasn't really a choice. He could either humiliate himself in front of this bastard, or in front of his whole class when showing up there with all the bruises. Either way it would be excruciating. But he'd rather have his whole class making fun of him than give in to Brook.

So he raised his head and said, "I'll take the excuse, then."

Brook immediately hit him square across the face. Then he pulled him upright and dragged him out of the bathroom and down the stairs to the basement. There, he slammed Jim against the wall, his arm pressed against the boy's throat. "You know what I'm gonna do once I am done with you? I will do your mother. Hard and fast. I'll have her dress up as the whore she is, in a tight, black corsage, and then I will pound her. All night long. I will make her scream, and there's nothing you can do about it…"

"Please… don't…" Jim choked.

"Then tell me your story."

"I got my books stolen today, from my locker, they ended up in a toilet, some people urinated on them, and I just wanted to clean it off, now, please, leave my mother alone…" His voice was quavering. "Please…"

Brook chuckled, "Someone pissed on your books? Well, that's a funny story. Already made some friends at school, I see. And you use _my_ bathtub to wash it away? You should be sucking it out of the pages." He slapped Jim. "I'll be nice this time, Jim. I won't belt you." Another slap. "However, I think I will do your mother anyways. That should teach you to give me answers when I want them immediately." Another slap. "Take it as a warning for next time." His fingers curled into a fist. "In case you'll forget…" Jim's eye was swollen shut seconds after Brook's fist landed. Another punch was delivered to his stomach. Jim doubled over; Brook let him crash to the floor. He knelt down next to him for a second, "And make sure to listen, Jim. To your mother's screams." He loosened his belt and tied Jim's hands behind his back, "Don't worry, I'll wake you up tomorrow. You won't be late to school. Until then… Enjoy the show." He got up again, left the basement and locked the door, leaving Jim lying on his stomach, panting. Jim struggled against his binds, but he couldn't free his hands.

His mother started screaming only minutes later.

Jim didn't find sleep that night.

* * *

**Sad bunny. **


	6. Tiran agua y salen rosas

**Disclaimer:**

****See Prologue. Title of this chapter is taken from The Kelly Family's _Ares Qui_. Yeah, I like them.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Tiran agua y salen rosas**

Jim hadn't even gotten a minute of sleep when Brook entered the basement. He looked down at Jim, who was still lying on his stomach, arms still tied. He grinned, "Well, I had a good night's sleep. How was your night, son?" Jim turned his head away from him. "Well, I can imagine how it was. Loud, at the very least." He knelt down next to Jim. "Now, Jim, I have your mother tied to the bed this very instant. Little bit of a role-play-game. But she's completely at my mercy. Or, at yours. If I free your hands now, will you be a good boy and not make any move on me? Or do I have to punish _her_?"

Jim shook his head, the fight drained from him, "I'll be a good boy."

"That's great." Brook patted his cheek. "Why can't it be like this all the time, I ask you." He then moved to loosen the belt around Jim's wrists. "Now, go take a shower, and then off to school." He left the basement.

Jim remained lying on the floor, rubbing his wrists for a few minutes, then dragged himself to the bathroom. His books were still lying there like he left them, but he had no time to clean them now. It was more important cleaning himself up. He smelled of sweat, and his wrists had started bleeding sometime during the night. He took a quick shower and assessed the damage. The wrists would be covered by the sleeves of his shirt. The bruises on his neck would be hidden too. The swollen eye however was a different thing. He really needed a good excuse for that. He sighed and got out of the shower again.

* * *

As per usual, Sorcha was already sitting in the classroom when Jim got in. Shite, he had forgotten about her. He sighed and walked over to her, "Morning."

She raised her head, "Morning." Then she frowned, "My, you look like shite. What happened, did you defend another girl's honour yesterday?"

"Yeah, please, do tell people that." He sat down next to her.

"And here I hoped I was the only one. No seriously, what happened? Did you run into Carl yesterday?" Jim shook his head. "Oh, I forgot. No 'Yes or No' questions. So, what happened?"

"It's really too embarrassing to tell."

"Cupboard, doorframe, fist?" Nosey girl.

Jim sighed. "Pick one."

Sorcha looked at him and then said, "I'll take the first option."

"Cupboard?"

"No, defending a girl's honour." She grinned, but was soon serious again. "You know the school has people who can help you? If that…" she pointed at his eye, "…happened at home."

"And what are they going to do? Put fluffy covers on the doors? I can do that myself."

"So, you really want to tell me you bumped your head on a door?"

"No, the door viciously attacked me on my way into my bedroom." He put on a fake grin. "I'm clumsy as hell. I trip all the time, I bump my head on everything, and I cut myself peeling potatoes almost every day. This…" he pointed at his eye, "…is really just a minor injury considering my stats in the game Jim vs. doors. No need to call child services."

She frowned, "You know I don't believe you? My mother was a nurse. She dealt with all sorts of things. Women getting beaten up by their husbands, children by their fathers, really, she saw it all. And she knows the excuses."

Jim rolled his eyes, "Sorcha, really, I hit my head on my bedroom door. It's awfully nice that you are worried, but please don't run around and tell people I get beaten up at home, because it's not true."

She watched him for a few seconds, then shrugged, "Okay. Can't say I've never bumped into a door myself. Did you at least get a written excuse for PE?"

"Oh shite…" He had completely forgotten about PE. He had put his gear in Sorcha's locker yesterday before they left for home, knowing that if he'd put it in his own locker it was most likely to end up in the toilet, too. The T-shirt would never hide the marks on his wrists, or even the bruises on his neck.

"What's the matter? You don't look very motivated."

"I'm not. Is there any possibility I can skip PE?"

"If you want to be the Drill Instructor's favourite all year, go ahead."

"Drill Instructor?"

Sorcha grinned, "The PE teacher, Mr Antony. He used to be in the Army before he decided it's much more fun pestering students. Rumour has it that some of the first-years even vomit after their first lesson with him. Sebastian loves him to bits, but he's a natural at any game, that's why Mr Antony never gives him shit. People like me, though…" She made a grimace and put on a fake accent, " 'Miss Moran, carry on like that and yewl be chewin a brick. Do ya wanna wake up wid a crowd around yer? Cum 'ed den.' It's atrocious. He never understood that some of us don't have the passion or the ambition or the qualities to be in the Olympic Games."

"I think I might vomit even before my first lesson." Jim moaned and placed his head on his table. "I should go home. Right now."

"Don't worry, it won't be that bad. They say actually you feel quite great after the trembling decreases."

"It's not that."

"What then?"

Jim couldn't possibly tell her. But then again, she would see it anyways because he couldn't think of any way to skip PE. So, without even looking at her he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and slid it up an inch. He could head her sharp intake of breath. "I only have a tee with me. I cannot let anybody see this."

"No, really, you can't. Who did this to you?"

"Simple altercation. I need a reason to skip PE. The eye I can explain, but how am I gonna explain this? Nobody can know. There are bruises on my neck, too."

She didn't answer for a few seconds, but then she said, "I know what we're going to do." Then she placed her hand on his shoulder, softly, "Don't worry. It'll be alright. Nobody will know."

"Bad enough you know. He just doesn't care how I am going to explain all of this. I think part of him likes that I have to face things like these. He wants people to laugh at me."

He could feel her moving closer until her lips were right next to his ear, "I'm not laughing. I'm sorry you had to tell me all of this."

"Me, too. Could you… just leave me alone now? Please?"

"Of course." She sat up upright again, and went back to her books.

Jim felt bad that he had to push her away. But he had known her only for two days. He never wanted people to know about what happened at home, of course, who would, but Brook didn't care about secrecy. He was probably convinced Jim would never rat him out to anybody, that he would be too worried about his mother to tell people what happened at their home, and therefore he would try everything to hide his injuries. He loved to see Jim struggling with the pain and the constant fear somebody would find out. The powerlessness, the fact that he couldn't go and seek help for either himself or, more importantly, for his mother, it drove Jim crazy, and there was nothing he could do about it. So, mark him. The kid would find a way to explain, find a way to hide. And even if people found out, who would care?

* * *

But Sorcha Moran cared. Which was why she sneaked off during the next lesson to find her brother in the chemistry lab. He was standing close enough to the big window, and noticed her frantic motions in front of the lab. She could see him rolling his eyes behind his goggles, but of course he asked the teacher immediately if he could use the facilities. Too much coffee, apparently.

Outside, he mumbled, "I hope you have a good reason for interrupting me here. I was just about to blow up the lab and get us some free time."

"Take your hoodie off."

"Excuse me?"

"I need your hoodie."

"Why?"

"Oh, why do you always have to ask questions? Just do it. Believe your little sister for once."

"I'm only wearing a vest under it, Sorcha."

"Who cares? You'll have a bunch of new girlfriends before the day is over."

"What's the matter with you?"

She rolled her eyes, "Jim forgot his gear for PE. Antony will give him shit if he skips the lesson. Remember, Jim saved me yesterday."

"Didn't he put his stuff in your locker yesterday?" Sorcha didn't answer. "Sorcha, what's going on? I know you're lying to me."

"Bastian, please. Just trust me when I say he needs your hoodie."

Sebastian sighed, "I would prefer it if you don't hang around with him too much, Sorcha. I can sense he's trouble."

"Sebbie. Please."

He sighed deeply and took off his lab coat, "I tell you one thing though, sister: if he gets you into trouble, I'll snap his neck in two." He peeled himself out of the hoodie and handed it over to Sorcha. "You can tell him that."

"Oh, get a grip on yourself, Moron." She shook her head and walked off.

* * *

When she sat down next to Jim again, she shoved the bundle into his hands under the desk. "Here."

He frowned, "What is this?"

"It's my brother's hoodie. It'll cover your wrists and neck."

"And my knees for that matter…" The hoodie felt still warm. Comforting. "Thank you. That's really kind of you and Sebastian."

"Don't mention it. It's the least I can do after yesterday. But the offer for the coffee is of course now cancelled. I mean, I brought you a hoodie."

Jim, for the first time this morning, gave her a real smile, "Of course."

* * *

**Aw. Jim smiling. Close your eyes now and imagine him smiling. Yeah, I know. **


	7. Ay guaguito de la Irlanda eres, bonito

**DISCLAIMER**: see Prologue. The title from this chapter and the lyrics you'll find later (in italic) are both from the Kelly Family's _Father's Nose_. I only changed the baby's eyecolour because Jim has brown eyes. **  
**

* * *

**Chapter Six: ****Ay guaguito de la Irlanda eres, bonito**

Sebastian was lying next to the pool when Jim returned his sweater, "Thank you again."

"You're welcome." Sebastian frowned, "I own a helmet, too."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your eye. Did that happen during PE?"

"Ah okay. No, I bumped my head on the bedroom door."

"I see." Sebastian closed his eyes again, "Where's Sorcha?"

"School nurse. She sprained her finger catching a ball. Or so she says."

"Yeah, most probably that. Well, Mrs Powers will make sure to report her to the headmaster if she fakes it."

"Mrs Powers? Carl's mother?"

"Yeah. She's the school nurse. Hopefully Sorcha's good at faking this. She really can't have detention this weekend."

"Why, you're going somewhere?"

"Dublin. Football Game. Ireland versus England."

"Oh yeah, I forgot." Jim had heard about the game when Brook had placed his bets last week. "Well, let's hope Ireland trashes the English."

"Oh they will, believe me. You're going, too?"

Jim shook his head, "No ticket. Or the money to buy one, for that matter."

"We have a spare ticket. My ma has to stay here because my Nana broke her hip. I'm sure my da wouldn't mind another Irish kid."

Jim sighed, "It would be cool. But as I said, I don't have the money to buy the ticket."

"Well good thing my da got them for free. I'm sure he wouldn't want you to pay, since you're a friend of his favourite little girl."

"That's really nice, and I would love to go, but I don't want to impose…" Jim felt his heart ache. Going back to Dublin, even if it were just for one night, would be wonderful. And he would be out of Brook's reach for the weekend. It was so tempting. But Brook would never allow it. "But thank you."

"Sure."

* * *

When Jim got home later that evening, his mother was on the phone with somebody, "Oh yes, I am sure. Of course. That's really nice of you. Of course, yes. Good-bye, and thank you." She hung up. When she saw Jim standing in the door, she gave him a smile, "That was Mr Moran. A nice man. He asked me whether we would allow you to go to Dublin for the weekend with them. Watching the big game."

Jim felt a massive relief that it had been his mother on the phone, not Brook, "I told his son I can't…"

"Yeah, he said so. But he told me that, when his son told him there was this kid who is from Ireland couldn't afford the ticket and therefore declined, he decided he would call." Her voice was a whisper now, "Thank God Richard is at a business dinner tonight. Anyways, Mr Moran said you really don't have to worry about the money. If you want to join them, he'd be happy to take you along."

"I can't accept that."

"I know, that's what I told him you would say. Come with me." She motioned him to the master bedroom. "I asked him how much the ticket costs." She sat down on the bed and fumbled on the slatted frame. Finally, she brought out a small wad of bills. "Here, take this. It's enough."

"Where did you get that from?" Jim asked, although he knew the answer already. His mother had been working again. With Jim in school and Brook at work, she had about eight hours where nobody was watching her. How she had made the connections when she knew nobody here Jim didn't know. He just knew one thing, "I can't take this money. This is yours."

She shook her head, "It's ours, Jim. I earned it because I want us to leave at some point."

"Mam, I cannot…"

"Jim, please." There were tears in her eyes now. "You have suffered so much during this last year. He hurts you so much, and you take it because you want to protect me. And I cannot protect you. Please, take the money and go. You're so young... You shouldn't be living like this. But we can't leave just now. You deserve some time off."

"What do you think he will do if he notices I'm gone, with people he doesn't know, back to Ireland to have fun? He will take it out on you, and I won't be here to protect you."

She wiped away the tears, "Jim. Sweetheart. You cannot always protect me. I know you want, but it's time you start thinking of yourself. What can he possibly do to me that he hasn't done in the past? I will get over it. But you… Please, Jim, do me a favour and go. I feel so bad for you, it would really ease my conscience if you went." She ran her hand over his head, "My little one. I never meant for this to happen. If your father was still with us, none of this would ever have happened." She planted a kiss on his front. "You are so much like him. He would have enjoyed this game tremendously. He would have drank with his friends and chanted for his country. Please, Jim. Go."

And finally, Jim nodded, "I will. Thank you, Ma. I'll get you the money back, I swear." He could feel tears standing in his eyes too. He had not for a second thought of his mother as a bad mother. But she had. And that hurt him. "You're not a bad mother, you know that. He's the bastard. And one day, I will make him pay. I will make him pay for everything he did to you. And he will beg me to kill him because he can't take the pain anymore."

"Jim, don't. Don't talk like this." She held his head to her shoulder and started humming. Jim didn't know the song, and he didn't understand a word of it for it was a foreign language. But it was soothing nevertheless, "_Dieciséis añitos Te espere, bonito, y tu llegada me, rey, hico feliz, y tu vida fue como un milagrito… y__ tus ojos _marrones_ me conquistaron__... A tus canticos los pájaros te responden, cielito mio... ya sonríes al pueblo, hijo de rey_..." She was rocking Jim back and forth as well as she could with him being almost her size. It had been years since she had done this the last time. After his father's funeral. When both of them were sitting at home, and Jim had asked her if his father had left them because he didn't love them anymore. She had shaken her head and whispered that father had loved them so much, and still loved them. Then she had started crying, holding her son, knowing that there would be many hardships coming their way, but promising to herself (and to Sean, whom she was sure was watching them right there and then) that never ever would she let Jim forget that both his parents loved him dearly, and that she would protect her son who looked so much like her beloved husband from any harm. She had failed. She had allowed Brook to take over everything, even going as far as cutting Jim's hair. And here he was telling her she wasn't a bad mother. But she would change it. She would sell her body again, earning money, so that at some point they could leave this hellhole. "_And you got your father's nose… your father's nose…" _She was now openly crying.

But so was Jim. And it would be the last tears he ever shed.

* * *

**If anybody needs a translation, send me a PM. **


	8. I ran to the river, it was boilin'

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Title of this chapter from Nina Simone's _Sinnerman._**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: ****I ran to the river, it was boilin'**

Aidan Moran, Jim found when the man opened the door to him, was an impressive figure. He had a total no nonsense attitude to him- pretty much the same that Sebastian had. Jim involuntarily took one step back and swallowed before he introduced himself, "Mr Moran? I.. I am James Moriarty… I am…"

The man eyed him for a second before he was suddenly pushed out of the way by his beaming daughter, "Jim! There you are! Da, this is my friend, Jim. Jim, this is my father. I'm so glad you could come!"

"Yeah, I… yeah…" He turned back to Sorcha's father, "Mr Moran, thank you so very much for taking me along. This is really nice. However, I really don't want to impose. I have some money for the ticket."

Aidan Moran tilted his head, "Son, I'm not going to take that money. You can stop right there."

"Sir, I really…"

"Either you take the money for yourself, or, if you really want to get rid of it, donate it. Now, I need to prepare the car. Why don't you go in and have some breakfast?"

Sorcha grabbed Jim's hand, careful, Jim noticed, not to touch his wrist, "Come on, Sebastian's just woken up, you can have breakfast together." She dragged him inside, out of her father's earshot. "Is everything okay with you? I'm sorry, but my father called your home before I could stop him. I hope you didn't get into trouble."

"No, my mother was on the phone, thank god." He put the wad of money into her hand, "Here, take this. If your father doesn't want it, you can have it."

"I don't want it either."

"Then you donate it. To the hospital where your mother worked."

Sorcha only smiled and put the money away, "I will. That's sweet. Come on, I'll introduce you to my mother."

Joan Moran was a beautiful woman. Just not now, as she stood before her son, hands on her hips and a look of utter madness on her face, "I will not allow this, Sebastian Moran. You will not wear this shirt!" Sebastian was wearing the Ireland team shirt. "You know how these games get out of hand! I'm not happy at all with you all going, but you will not, and I repeat, not, wear our colours. I don't want you do get beaten up by an English mob! That's an order, young man!" Sebastian seemed to think about it, when his mother grabbed the newspaper that was lying on the desk and slammed it over his head, "Now!"

"Okay, okay." Sebastian got up a tad too quickly to make it look nonchalant and then hurried up the stairs.

His mother shook his head, "It was so easy when he was smaller than me." Then she turned to Sorcha, the newspaper still in her hand. But she let it sink when she saw her daughter, "You look pretty. Are you going to this football game to find a husband? OFF you go and wear a decent skirt. Or pants. Gosh, you children drive me up the wall sometimes." Only then she seemed to notice Jim, "Oh, you must be the kid from Dublin. Come on, sweetie, sit down, have some cereal. Would you like a tea?"

Sorcha nudged him, "Come on, have some cereal. She doesn't bite. At least nobody but her own children." She ducked the newspaper that her mother threw in her direction. "I gotta go."

_No, please, don't leave me alone here, _Jim thought as Sorcha ran up the stairs. He was reluctant to sit down at the table, but apparently Sorcha was right; Joan Moran only bit her own children. And as she filled him an extra-large bowl of cereal and placed a cup of steaming tea in front of him, he suddenly felt very at ease. "Thank you, Mrs Moran."

"You're very welcome, sweetie. I'm sorry you had to witness this. See, I usually don't beat my children with The Sun, but I am a bit nervous. Here, have a slice of bread with your cereal. You look starved out. See, I really think Sebastian and Sorcha ought to be more careful. I can sense trouble. Would you like some fruit? I mean, it's not like Sebastian couldn't defend himself, but I really think they shouldn't provoke anyone. The English hate us as it is, and just imagine if we won this game. Of course I'll be watching it here with my mother. She broke her hip a few weeks ago and still needs some help. I used to be a nurse, so I can do that. Here, these strawberries are delicious. God, kid, you really need to eat more, you're so skinny! And your eye looks really bad. Broken vessels. How did you do that?"

"Bumped my head on my bedroom door. No, really, thank you, but I cannot possibly eat any more." If Jim had ever wondered why Sorcha couldn't shut up, he knew it now. The spitting image of her mother.

"You can always eat strawberries. Did you bring something to eat for the journey? No. Don't worry, there's enough in the picnic basket to feed you and the Irish team. And Paul Ince. Here, there's an apple for you." She ruffled his hair, "I also made some cake. Maybe you can bring some to your mother tomorrow. It's my very own recipe." Then she tilted her head, "You do realize I don't believe the thing with the bedroom door?"

Jim sighed, "Neither does your daughter. But really, it's what happened. I am very clumsy."

She gave him the same look Sorcha had given him, but then said, "Okay. I cannot force you to tell me things. Just remember that whoever did this to you has no right to do so. Now, do you want another cup of tea? Or maybe an orange juice?"

"Thank you very much, Mrs Moran, but I'm full." He actually felt like he hadn't eaten that much in a lifetime. "It was delicious."

"It was just cereal. You don't eat a lot, do you?" She let her eyes wander over his frame. "You should at least weigh twenty more pounds. You don't sleep enough, or you don't sleep well; there are shadows under your eyes." She frowned, "The way you hold yourself suggests that you are in pain. Ribs, maybe. And despite the fact that it is quite hot outside, you're wearing long sleeves. You are a victim of abuse, and I should report it." But then she sighed, "But of course, you're sixteen. I guess you have a good reason not to defend yourself against… your father?"

"Stepfather." Jim answered faster than he intended to.

"Stepfather, then. Where is your real father?"

"Dead. Mugged and beaten to death." Jim whispered. "And then my mother had to marry my stepfather." God, this woman was better than Sorcha in finding out his secrets. "Please, don't tell anybody. He will just take it out on my mother, and she's been through so much already." His guard was down. After the emotional moment with his mother a few days ago, the worry about what would happen if Brook found out that he couldn't quite shake off, the prospect of going back to Dublin and seeing the city of his father again… it was too much to handle right now. "I… I'll be alright. Really, it looks worse than it is."

"I have heard that before. But of course, I won't tell anybody. Although I don't feel good about this. Here, have some more strawberries." She had given up. "Sorcha and Sebastian will be ready any minute."

* * *

The journey to Dublin was quiet. Sorcha had at some point dozed off and had slept with her head against the window, while Sebastian was reading and Mr Moran concentrated on the road. Jim didn't mind it.

When they finally arrived in Dublin, the streets were already crowded with people. Jim, who knew the city inside out, told Mr Moran where to best park his car in order to have it far enough from the stadium to avoid it being trashed by supporters. Then he guided the Moran family on the fastest way to Lansdowne Road. He felt like he was flying. Everything that dragged him down in Brighton was gone. He was back where he belonged.

* * *

The game started off innocently enough. Of course, there were the chants, and some English fans who had overheard them talking had insulted their accent, but nothing out of the ordinary, apart from the abusing of both anthems. Sebastian and his father apparently looked too intimidating for anyone to try something else besides trash talk. Sorcha however was nervous.

Jim smiled when he noticed, "Glad that you picked pants instead of the indecent skirt?"

She gave him a fake laugh, "You have nothing to worry about. I mean, I am a girl."

"With a very huge father and brother." He noticed she was more nervous than she showed as she suspiciously eyed the crowd. "Hey, come on, Sorcha. Nothing will happen. It's a football game." Of course, it was much more than that. The air was heavy with menace. He could feel it, because he knew how the city normally felt. And this was different. He wasn't afraid, because, frankly, with all the people that were here, how big were the chances that they would attack any of them. But Sorcha was, and it bothered him because… scared women bothered him in general. So he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer to him. "It's gonna be alright. Don't worry. The worst thing that can happen is that Ireland wins, and really, how big are the chances of that happening?"

Sorcha moved even closer, "You're probably right. I'm chicken. Sebastian is never going to let anything happen to me anyways."

"See. No need to worry." Jim nudged her. "Look, David Kelly…."

And then the uproar and the resulting chants were almost unbearably loud. David Kelly scored, and the Irish went nuts.

Sorcha jumped up and down and placed her arm around Jim's shoulders, "1:0! 1:0! We're leading!" She turned to Jim and placed a quick kiss on his lips, and then jumped up and down again. "We're leading!"

Jim, totally thrown off by the kiss, and by the harsh celebrating blow Sebastian had just dealt to his shoulder, heard the chants too late. And he could sense the trouble coming. If there was anything Jim Moriarty was good at, it was sensing trouble. "I think we should leave."

"What?" Sebastian exclaimed. "Are you nuts? We're winning."

Jim leaned closer to him. "There's going to be a riot. Look at the English. Listen to what they sing. We should leave before there's going to be a panic."

"Oh come, Jim, you're chicken. Of course they are angry, but this is a friendly."

"Nothing is friendly between us and them." Jim answered. "Look, they start throwing things."

"So what, it's what happens at games like these."

But Sebastian's father shook his head now, too, "I think Jim is right. There's nothing friendly here anymore. Look, the ref is waving the teams inside." He bit his lower lip, thinking. "Come on, we'll try and leave. No, Sebastian, I'm not going to listen. I have two underage kids with me, and imagine the shit I'll get from your mother if you get hurt, and the shit I'll be getting from Jim's family if he gets hurt. Come on, now is the time to leave."

"But, dad…"

"I said no, Sebastian. Once you are old enough you go there and get your head bashed in, fine with me, but now, you will help me getting your sister and Jim out of trouble." Sebastian grimaced, but said no other word. "Good. Now, come."

* * *

They made it to the car without getting into trouble, and immediately drove off. When they were outside of Dublin, Sebastian's father halted the car at the next payphone and called his wife, "Joan, it's me. No, no, we're alright. We left when we saw them throwing things. They abandoned the game? Good Lord. No, it's okay, we'll drive home now. I'll hope we get onto the ferry soon. Nothing happened. The children are alright. Yes, all three of them. I love you too. Sleep well." He hung up. "Jim, you'll want to call your parents too. Letting them know you're okay. Apparently all hell broke loose after we left. Many injured. The Gardaí are apparently doing a good job, but what do you want to do when there's a bunch of people determined causing trouble? Here's some change for you."

"Thank you, sir." Jim dialled. He could think of many other things that he would rather do now than calling home, but his mother needed to know he was okay.

Unfortunately, it wasn't her that picked up the phone, "Brook?"

"It's Jim. Can I speak to my mother, please?"

"Where are you?"

"I want to speak to my mother. Put her on the phone."

"Where are you?"

"I'm just outside Dublin. With the Morans. We were at the game. We left early. Where is my mother?"

Silence, then, "And you didn't get your ugly head bashed in by the Gardaí?"

"Where is my mother?"

"She can't come to the phone right now. You'll see soon enough why." A whisper, "I told you to be a good boy, didn't I, Jim? And yet you and your mother team up against me, and you leave town to go back to your shitty home country. You'll see what you get from that. Enjoy yourself before you'll get home, Jim. Enjoy it. Because then, you will pay for the money I lost today." He hung up.

Jim remained standing in the booth, knuckles white as he held on to the receiver as if it were a lifeline. Where was his mother? What had the bastard done to her? Images flashed his mind, and none of them were any nice. His mother beaten to a pulp. Dead. Broken bones protruding from her body. Locked up in the basement. _Mam…_

He didn't know how long he was standing there when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Jim, is everything okay with you?" Sorcha. "You've been standing here for almost ten minutes. My father wants to drive." Then she caught sight of his face, "Jim, you're pale. Are you okay?"

Jim shook his head, "He's angry. I think he hurt my mother."

"Did you talk to her?"

"He said she couldn't come to the phone. I knew it was wrong to come here and leave her alone, I knew it, and now…"

Sorcha took the receiver from his shaking hand, "Come on, let's drive home. The longer we stand here the more time we're wasting…" She then took his hand in hers and dragged him back to the car.

Jim didn't notice the inquiring looks on the faces of Sebastian and Mr Moran. He didn't notice Sorcha's dismissive wave at both men so they wouldn't ask questions. He didn't notice when they drove onto the ferry, nor when, in the early morning hours, they were back in Brighton. The only thing he noticed was when the car parked in front of his house. He muttered a low "Good-bye" and a "Thank you" and walked slowly to the front door.

Sorcha watched him entering the house, hesitating for a second, as if to take a breath, but then closing the door behind him. Her hand suddenly felt cold. The hand she had held Jim's hand with during the entire journey since that phone call. But she wasn't too sure he had even noticed that.

Sebastian, when Jim was away, turned to Sorcha, "What's the matter with him anyways? He was awfully quiet the whole time."

Sorcha bit her lip. Part of her wanted her brother to follow Jim, barge in there and protect him. Sebastian was still full of adrenaline from the game, and she was sure that as soon as they were home and her mother let them out of her hug, he would go to the garage and maim his punching bag. Why not put his fists to a better use.

But she remembered the promise she had given Jim and just said, "Nothing. He's probably just angry because he had to leave Dublin sooner than he planned. He's alright." _He will be alright. 22 hours until I know. _

* * *

**Oh no, poor Jim. Again. :( **_  
_


	9. I know some soldiers in here

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Title from this chapter taken from Destiny's Child's _Soldier._  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eight: I know some soldiers in here**

She was waiting at the corner of his street this time, long before he would come out. She couldn't wait till school started. The whole last day had been a blur. With Sebastian and their father sitting in front of the telly, watching the news reports on the aftermath of the game, she couldn't quite shake off the thought that the real tragedy for the Irish was happening right now, not in Dublin, but in Brighton. She had fought the urge to go out for some exercise, jogging to Jim's house to make sure he was alright, because frankly, it probably wouldn't do him any good. She hadn't slept all night long, tossing and turning.

He had gotten her. From the very first moment she had laid eyes on him, he had gotten her. Which was why she did the things she did, why she was so eager to find out things about him, to help him, to be in his company. When Sorcha was a child, her mother liked to tell the relatives who came to visit once in a year, she always brought home all kinds of animals; stray cats, dogs that had been hit by a car and left to die, birds that had fallen out of their nests. All to nurse them back to health. And she managed, more often than not, because she had inherited her mother's skills as a nurse. Of course, that was only what she thought. The truth was that, when Sorcha was asleep at nights, it was indeed her mother who looked after the animals. But she never told Sorcha. And when Joan Moran had seen Jim for the first time, she knew immediately why Sorcha had been talking about her new friend at school almost every day that last week. Just like her mother, she knew misery when she saw it. And Jim Moriarty, with these big brown eyes and the slender frame, fit right in between starved-out cat and cheeping nightingale.

But for Sorcha, there was more to him that just the eyes and the frame. A certain depth, a warmth he radiated on to everybody close to him. Maybe because, if one looked, one could see the hurt in his eyes, the fear that he couldn't shake off. Jim Moriarty was more than met the eye. And if she had doubted her own judgement in the first few hours, the moment when he had stepped in between her and Carl Powers, risking his own health to protect her, she knew she had fallen in love with him. Now, other people would say how she could talk about love when she'd only known him for a week. She was a teenager after all, no experience in life whatsoever, and here she was talking about love. Okay, maybe it was just a crush. Girls her age tend to overdramatize feelings. But either way, the thought of Jim being beaten at home while she was sitting there at the family table eating Sunday roast was more than she could endure. So she counted the seconds till Monday morning.

And then the door opened. Sorcha hid behind a bush; if that wasn't Jim, but the stepfather, she didn't want to be seen. But it was Jim. And she only needed a quick glance to see that he was hurt. Badly so. She waited until he was close to the corner of the street, then left her hide-out. "Jim?" He raised his head. The exhaustion was visible in his eyes, but his face was unharmed. She felt relief, before she noticed the way he held himself, hand clutched to his side. "Ribs?" Jim nodded. "Broken?" He shook his head. "Let me carry your bag." He gave it to her without any objection. "Is everything alright with your mother?"

Jim answered, his voice barely more than a whisper, "She's okay. He just wanted to scare me. I'm sorry I can't talk a lot today…"

She gave him a smile, "It's alright. I feared for worse."

Jim frowned, "You haven't slept, have you? You look like crap."

"Always the gentleman. No, I haven't slept. I was worried. Come on, let's go. We'll probably be late anyways."

* * *

Jim was not nearly okay. And his mother wasn't alright either. Brook had beaten her up severely when he noticed Jim was gone. She had curled up in the bathroom the whole weekend till Sunday evening. In the meantime, Brook had taken his wrath out on Jim, turning his back into a bloody mess with his damn belt, then kicking the boy who was only stirring slightly by then. It was a miracle that no bone was broken. But Brook had avoided his face, which Jim counted as the only positive thing that day. Apparently, now that Brook knew that Jim had in fact friends at school, he probably didn't want to draw any attention to Jim.

But Sorcha's reaction surprised him. She hadn't slept all night because she was worried. About him. Of course, given his mood on the journey from Dublin back home it wasn't a real surprise. Yet, Jim was intrigued. Until now, he had seen her as a chatty young girl who was nice and just happened to like to help him covering his problems. A philanthropist. However, the fact that she seemed to think about him even when he wasn't around added something to her personality. Maybe she was real in her caring about him. Maybe there was more to her than he had given her credit for. He had to keep her at bay if he didn't want to drag her down. And she certainly didn't deserve that.

* * *

Arriving at school, the air was hostile. Sebastian was waiting at his sister's locker. When he saw her approaching it, he warned, "Keep a low profile this next week. The resident twats didn't take it too kindly that our Gardaí trashed their people at the game. I already got tripped twice today."

Sorcha sighed when she opened her locker, "This game is haunting me. Did you at least trip them back?"

"I shoved one guy against the nearest locker. He'll be sure to not trip anybody again. I need to go to the biology lab. Just be careful, yeah?"

"Will be." Sorcha waited until Sebastian was out of earshot, then she whispered, "Are you sure you don't want to go home? With your injuries…"

"He'll only add to them if I go home now. Believe me, this is much less dangerous." Jim wheezed. "Let's just go to our classroom, I need to sit down."

"Do you want me to steady you?"

"You're already carrying my bag…"

"You haven't been a gentleman when you told me I look like crap, don't pretend now." She moved closer to him.

And Jim laid his arm around her shoulders, "Thank you…"

"You're most welcome." _Oh Jim, you smell so damn fine…_

"Oh, now, look at that. Moron found herself a boyfriend! And I thought only a mother could love an ugly face like hers." Carl Powers. _Of course. _"Ugly Irish bagger. You know, if your Gardaí had used their sticks on your faces, it would actually have been an improvement."

"Well, I am sorry to tell you that only a nuclear war could improve your face." she answered. "Come, Jim, let's go. It smells of chlorine here." She moved slowly so as to not hurt Jim.

But apparently Powers had other things in mind. Only now Jim noticed that there weren't any people around him but Powers and his gang who now had formed so as to block their way to the classroom. Jim worked on instinct when he took his arm off Sorcha's shoulders and pushed her behind himself, ignoring the pain it caused him.

Powers chuckled, "How very sweet. Moriarty, I still owe you one, I think."

"Well, if you think so, you're probably right." He extended his arms. "Come on. Beat me. Be a great man and beat somebody who isn't even going to defend himself. But you will not touch a girl while I am around, Carl Powers."

"Is that really the only thing you can do? Protect her from getting slapped?"

"So what. That's still better than you. The only thing you can do is slapping girls. Go pick on some people your size and leave us al…"

The punch came faster than he expected this time, and it hit his already damaged ribs with a precision that was too good to be true. Jim went down on his knees with a strangled cry as the crack reached his ears.

Carl Powers, who had obviously not expected Jim to go down that easily, looked at his fist, then at Jim and finally chuckled, "Well, that was quick. Big talker. That wasn't any fun." He shrugged. "Well, I see you around." He laughed and left, waving to his friends to come with him.

Sorcha knelt down next to Jim, "That stupid twat. Jim, say something. Shall I bring you to the nurse?" Jim shook his head, his face contorted in pain. "Are you sure? Do you know what can happen with a fractured rib?"

"I cannot go… to the nurse…."

"Why? Because she's Carl's mother? Oh I will give her a piece of my mind about her son."

"No…" His back. The nurse would see his back, and, apart from the fact that she would probably report it, which was the last thing he wanted, Carl would find out, and that was really the second-to-last thing he wanted. "It'll… be… alright…" He tried to stand up but swayed so much Sorcha had to steady him.

She was indignant, "Jim, listen to me, you need to see somebody about this. Come on, I'll bring you to Mrs Powers."

"Nooo…" It was more a howling than an actual word.

Sorcha sighed, knowing that something was off and that she would not convince Jim to go to the nurse's office. So she leaned in closer and whispered, "Jim, I only mean good. If your ribs are fractured, you need somebody to look at it. If you don't want to go to Mrs Powers, I understand. How would you feel about my mother looking at you? I can call my dad, he can pick us up. Don't worry, she's not going to tell anybody."

"What about classes?" Painful moan.

"As if we were going to learn anything useful here. Shall I call my dad?"

The pain was unbearable now, so Jim only nodded; really, almost anything now to make the pain go away.

Sorcha placed a kiss on his cheek. "I'll be right back."

* * *

**Oh Jim. **


	10. I told her no, she cried Te amo

**Disclaimer: See prologue. Chapter title is from Rihanna's _Te amo_.  
**

**Thanks you for your reviews :o)  
**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: I told her "no", she cried "Te amo"  
**

Mr Moran didn't ask any questions; it seemed like either Sorcha or his wife had told him to shut up. Jim was sitting in the front seat, wheezing, his face so contorted that Aidan Moran could actually feel the pain. He didn't say anything though. No need to, since his crazy daughter was muttering utter nonsense in an attempt to calm Jim down. He wasn't even sure she was using the English language anymore at some point.

Joan Moran was already waiting for Jim. "Jim. I was hoping to see you again, but of course not under these circumstances. Sorcha, can we use your room? I really wouldn't want him to see the mess Sebastian thinks he can live in, and I seem to remember you cleaned yours yesterday."

Sorcha nodded, "Go ahead. I'll wait in the kitchen here. Call me if you need something. And please be careful."

"I am a nurse, Sorcha." She shook her head at her daughter and helped Jim up the stairs.

* * *

"So, Carl Powers, I hear. Can you take off your tie and shirt, please? You can sit down on the bed. The sheets were changed yesterday."

Jim sat down on it and, under many hisses and moans, took of his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. "Is it okay… if I leave… the shirt like that?"

She turned, checked, and nodded, "Yeah." She then sat down next to him and looked at his body, "You know, I actually don't even have to touch you. With your ribs showing like that… Extensive bruising. That wasn't just from one punch." She ran her fingers over his ribcage. "This will hurt, Jim. Better prepare yourself." Jim only nodded and closed his eyes when she started applying pressure. "Here, this one is fractured. You got lucky. No danger for the lung or the spleen. It hurts a lot, but it should heal alright." She sighed and got up again. "I will write you a note for school. You will stay here today. I want you to rest. I'll go and get you some painkillers. What is your mother's name?"

"Jamie. Jamie Mor… Brook."

Mrs Moran smiled, "Jamie. Were you named after her?"

"Yes… My father decided it. So she knew how much he loved her."

The smiled turned sad, "It's your stepfather who is abusing you, right?" As Jim nodded, she said, "You know, there are people who can help you. Your mother would be safe, too."

"Please. Don't tell anybody." Jim just said.

"You know I'm making myself liable to prosecution like that?"

"I know. But nobody is going to ever find out."

"How can you be so sure about that?"

Jim closed his eyes, "He's got us under control."

She sighed again, "I see. Well, I'm going to get the painkillers now. You should probably try and sleep. I'll wake you up later so that you can go home, and nobody will find out you didn't attend classes today. If you need something, tell Sorcha."

"I will. Thank you, Mrs Moran. I cannot put into words how much I appreciate your help and all…"

She reached out her hand and ran it over his head, "You have saved my daughter twice, she told me, and you saved my family at the game. And Sorcha would give me hell if I didn't help you. Sleep now." She gave him a last smile and left the room.

It was the first time in what felt like an eternity that Jim was lying in a real bed again, with pillows and covers and all, and not just on a mattress. It smelled of fabric softener, and he couldn't help but bury his nose in the pillow. _So soft… _And they were so nice, the Morans. A week only, and they already made him feel like he sort of mattered to them.

The door opened, and Sorcha got in, "My mother said I shouldn't bother you now, but I just wanted to check whether you want something to drink?"

He shook his head, "I'm alright. But you don't bother me, really. This is your room after all. You can stay here if you like."

"She said you ought to sleep."

He gave her a weak smile, "Does she know you haven't slept all night either? I shouldn't be occupying your bed when you look as if you are about to doze off against your doorframe."

"I have all night to sleep, Jim. Besides, as you just said, my bed is occupied, and as much as I would love to cuddle, I really think we should take it slow. I understand of course that the prospect of my body against yours must appear very appealing to you, but I am a good girl, and I cannot be won over that easily." She grinned, "Besides, I am known to be a rather restless sleeper, and I don't want to break another of your darling ribs."

"Well, I made the offer." Jim attempted a shrug, but hissed in pain immediately. "Probably for the best."

"See? Don't worry; you'll sleep, I'll watch over you."

"If you insist…" He gave her another smile and closed his eyes. Fatigue was taking over soon. The last thing he noticed was Sorcha sitting down next to the bed, leaning against the nightstand and placing one hand on the mattress.

Jim didn't touch it.

* * *

He slept through the day and only woke up when he heard the whisper, "Jim…. up… late…."

He moaned, "What?"

"You have to get up. It's already late. If you want it to appear like you have been to school, you need to get up and leave soon." Sorcha. Her voice close to his ear.

He opened his eyes, and was greeted with the sight of Sorcha in a bathing robe, hair soaking wet. He smiled, "I like that smell. What is it?"

"Clean, they call it. How do you feel?"

He shifted his position, "It hurts badly."

"I can imagine. Don't worry, there's still a bit of time. You don't have to hurry." She seemed to hesitate before she ran the back of her hand over his cheek. "I wish there was a way I could keep you here for another day or two."

Jim closed his eyes, "That's not possible. He'll just freak out. He'll freak out anyways today. Look at the state of me. I look like I slept in my clothes."

"That's a feeble attempt of a joke if I ever heard one. I can iron your shirt if you want."

"That would be great." Under many hisses, he managed to get up and peel himself out of his shirt, turning away from Sorcha in the process. "This is awkward. I really do impose, don't I?" No answer. "You don't have to answer, I mean, I know…" Then suddenly, he remembered. Because of the pain in ribs that had overshadowed any other feeling in his body, he had completely forgotten his back. He turned back to Sorcha. "I… I forgot… please, Sorcha, don't tell your mother…" He moved forward and grabbed both her other arms, ignoring the jolt of pain in his ribs, "Sorcha. I know it looks bad, it is bad, but I need you to swear that you won't tell anybody. Will you do that for me?"

She licked her lips. Once, twice. And then she said, "Why would anybody do such a thing to another person?"

"Because he's a bastard, he deserves to die, and one day I will kill him, but for now everything I do will endanger my mother. We can't leave because we have nothing, he is the one that has all the money. I can't risk driving him away before I found work, before I can earn some money. I need you to keep this to yourself."

"Jim, he's abusing you."

"I know. But it's better than starving on the streets." He released his grip on her. "Please, Sorcha."

She shook her head first, but then nodded, "I never thought it was that bad."

"You weren't supposed to know. I…" he actually chuckled, "I can't even believe you know everything. In a matter of a week. I always thought I was good at hiding. But you… you should join the police, really."

"I was lucky. Well, not exactly." She raised her hand and touched his shoulder, tentatively. "I like you. I really do."

"Don't. Any good won't come out of that." He sighed. "Forget the shirt. I think it's better if I leave now." He put the shirt on again, hiding the bruises and welts. Then he limped to the door where he paused, "Sorcha… you are nice, you are really kind. I don't know what makes you do the things you do, but I am very thankful. Nothing more. So… if you harbour any deeper feelings for me, I think it's better if you forget them." He turned around one last time, "I'm sorry." Then he left.

Sorcha remained behind. When she heard the front door close, she walked over to the window, watching as Jim walked away, not turning back. She bit her lower lip and swallowed back the tears.

* * *

If anything, Jim hated himself for the first time now. And, he hated Brook. If his father was still alive, he wouldn't have to deal with this. He would have stayed in Dublin, and would probably just now experience his first fling with another teenage girl. Doing the things boys his age did: sharing first innocent kisses, holding hands walking in parks, first caresses, and yes, probably loosing virginity. As it was, Brook had destroyed that. Jim was pretty sure that, under other circumstances, Sorcha would be solid girlfriend material. But now… he didn't feel anything. Nothing. A whole lot of nothing. It wasn't even friendship that he felt. Just… thankfulness. And that wasn't a feeling where you could build relationships on. He hoped Sorcha would understand at some point. He really didn't mean to hurt her, but if she got attached like that after _a week only_, what would have happened if he hadn't told her right away? But that didn't change the feeling of hatred for Brook. The man who was so keen on destroying him.

* * *

**I'm not particularly happy with this chapter. **


	11. I'm gonna go go go

**Disclaimer: see Prologue. Title of this chapter taken from Queen's _Don't stop me now_  
**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: I'm gonna go go go, there's no stopping me **

The following weeks, Sorcha kept a safe distance to Jim. Or so he thought. She was still sitting next to him in classes, but they didn't spend lunch breaks together anymore, and she didn't ask him how he was. Jim figured that she had lost interest in him somewhere along the way. Apparently, he had mistaken about how she was nice and kind and all.

But it was now that he was mistaken, because Sorcha was only playing the indifferent part. Every morning when Jim arrived in the classroom, she scanned him, looking for bruises or anything else that seemed different from the day before. She had ordered Sebastian to look out for Jim, in case Carl Powers tried something, and gave her brother all of her pocket-money as an incentive. It pained her that she and Jim weren't close anymore, but if he felt more at ease like that, she would have to get over it. After all, if Jim had no feelings for her, there was no way she could force him.

Back at home everything was quiet. Jim and his mother had made a silent pact to not infuriate Brook anymore, but keep calm and carry on. Jamie saved all the money she earned, hiding it in the basement where Brook would never look. She had no idea how much they would need. But, she had told Jim some day when Brook was at a business meeting till late at night, that there was one client who fancied her very much. A young man, younger than her, who only visited her to talk. Much too shy to try anything, sexually. Maybe at some point, he could help them. Sean Wright. Sean, like Jim's father. They had to be careful, and Sean Wright knew that. Maybe he was their way out. But Jamie was reluctant to depend on another man ever again. But, Brook didn't know anything yet, and he seemed rather satisfied with himself that neither Jamie nor Jim seemed up to fight anymore. Come to think about, it was probably the best few months Jim had spent so far in the Brook house. No violence, at least none too cruel. There was the occasional slap, but Jim didn't even flinch at it, anymore.

* * *

And then, one day, apparently Carl Powers seemed to think Jim's life had been too quiet. Jim was late, really late for school. Nothing had happened, he had just overslept. Happened to the best, really. So, instead of taking his usual way to school, he risked getting his uniform dirty and used the passage through the backstreets. Which, he would later think, was what probably saved Sebastian's eyesight and made him the valuable sniper he was.

Because Jim could hear the cheering of a crowd when he dashed around the corner. And he knew the voice of the leading man. "Come on, get up, Moran. Get up, little piece of shit, defend yourself." The sound of something hitting flesh. No cries. "Get up! Get up you lousy mick! Always such a big mouth, and now?"

_Sorcha. _Jim thought, and felt his body stiffen. He had to get in. He had to do something, anything. There was a bunch of boys, men, beating up a woman. And God knew what else they would do to her. So he took a deep breath, let his bag fall to the ground, and ran to where he heard the voices.

It wasn't Sorcha, he noticed immediately, and he couldn't help but feel utterly relieved. It was Sebastian. And five other guys. All kicking him when he was obviously already out. _They are beating him to death. Like the other bastards did with my… _"STOP IT!"

Carl turned around, "Moriarty. Leave. Now."

"I won't. Stop beating him, or I'll go and call the police." It was ridiculous. Carl Powers was an athlete. He would catch Jim before he even had to chance to reach the closest house. "I'm serious, Powers. Leave him alone."

Carl laughed, "Why? What will you do to stop me? Apart from trying to call the police? Will you beat me up?"

"I don't care. But you will stop hurting Sebastian…" He had barely finished the sentence when he made a dash. It was the only way he could help Sebastian. He could hear the thugs following him, but, surprisingly enough, they didn't catch him before he reached the main road. And there, thank God, was a police man. Jim raced up to him, "Sir?"

The policeman looked down at the panting boy before him, "What's the matter, kid? Why are you running?"

"Some… guys…" He couldn't talk.

"Easy kid. Tell me your name."

"James… Moriarty… You need to come, Sir… those guys… beating… up… ambulance."

The man looked at him, "James Moriarty? Jamie's son?"

"Yes…" he stepped back, clutching his aching rib. How did this man know his mother? "Who are you?"

"I am Sean Wright. I know your mother… Where are those guys?"

Sean Wright. _The man who visited his mother ever so often and who didn't take advantage of her situation to use her only for his pleasure_. Even Jim was bound to get lucky sometimes. "Backstreet. Please, you need to call an ambulance."

Wright nodded, "Show me."

* * *

Sebastian was brought to hospital immediately. Jim went with him, after having convinced Wright that he knew him and that he could call the family. They arrived twenty minutes after he made the call, panic spread across their faces. Both parents didn't even notice him.

But Sorcha did. After her father had shouted back at her to stay where she was, and, this is no place for a young girl, she remained before the door, trembling.

What Jim did now suddenly felt like the most natural thing on earth. He walked over to her and, before she had even fully acknowledged his presence, pulled her into a hug, holding her head to his shoulder. He knew how she felt; how often did he have to witness his mother being beaten up like this. So he just held her, patting her head as she cried on his shoulder.

"Who did this?" he heard her mumbling.

"Powers and his gang." He answered. "I'm so sorry, Sorcha. He'll be alright, I'm sure he will. Calm down…" She only sobbed harder. He bit his lip, trying to think of anything comforting to say. But nothing could comfort a person in such distress, so he just continued holding her, trying to ignore the tears that soaked his jacket.

"Why were you there?"

"I was late for school and took the shortcut. It was pure coincidence. Why was Sebastian there?"

"Watching out for you. Every morning... You probably saved his life…"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sorcha. He's probably just out cold. He's stronger than that." He cupped her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes, "Sorcha, he will be okay. You can probably take him home with you. It just looked bad because he was out. He will come back home with you and plot a bloody revenge, and please, tell him I'll assist him."

She managed a smile before she started sobbing again.

* * *

Jim was right, it turned out. The only dangerous thing about the beating was all the blood and dirt that he had gotten into his eyes, but the doctors cleaned them profoundly. The head wound that had been the cause of the blood was nasty, but not dangerous. He didn't even have a concussion. Only some minor bruises decorated his face. Which was why he told Wright that he wouldn't fill charges against Carl or any other of his assailants. Wright wasn't too thrilled, but Sebastian was old enough to make decisions on his own. Yet, Wright promised he would keep an eye on Powers.

Before he left, he took Jim aside, "I'm going to see your mother after my shift. Do you want me to tell her what happened, or do you want to do it yourself?"

"No, you can do it." At least like that, Brook wouldn't find out. "Thank you for your help, sir."

"It's my job, James. You tell me when this Powers guy tries anything, won't you?"

"Of course." _Not._ "Tell my mother I love her."

Wright smiled, "I will. She always told me you were a great kid. Now I've seen it for myself." He patted Jim on the shoulder and left.

* * *

Jim was invited home by the Morans for lunch, and Mrs Moran wrote a note to the teachers as to why Jim wasn't at school this morning. Finally Jim got to try Mrs Moran's fantastic stew. And hell, it was delicious. She even managed to make some cookies which she literally force fed Jim with it. The only one who got more attention than Jim was Sebastian. If he had accepted it, his mother would have spoon fed him.

Sorcha however didn't join the family at the table. Jim noticed her absence and went to look for her. He found her in the garden, cuddling with a big fuzzy ball. "I didn't know you own a cat."

"Found her last week. Haven't got a name for her yet."

"You are awfully silent. I told you he would be alright."

"Because you were there. This is, what, the third time you saved one of our arses?"

"The forth. And I always got in trouble after it, so really, it's not like I am choosing to save you every other day. I have the feeling that tonight my house will burn down." She chuckled. "I'm not joking. I am serious." He reached out his hand to caress the cat and asked, "You're not mad at me, are you? Because of what I said."

She shook her head, "Not mad, no. Sad, yeah. But it's okay, really. Don't worry."

"It's just… I really didn't want to hurt you, but I felt you were expecting more than I can give. So… Yeah."

"It's okay, Jim. Really. Other fish in the sea. Besides, I'm currently busy plotting revenge on Carl Powers and I cannot possibly be bothered with your feelings, or the absence of it."

"Okay… So, you want to take revenge on him?"

She gave him a look, "Sebastian is my brother, and I love him dearly. He was lucky that nothing worse happened. Now, it's time to show Carl not to mess with us."

"What did you think of?"

"I haven't figured that out yet. Why, you have an idea?"

Jim shrugged, "That depends on certain things. His schedule, for instance. Where, how, when?"

"I was thinking of something involving the wall and his face…"

Jim chuckled, "Nah. That's ordinary. His methods. I'm thinking of something more refined…"

"Like what?"

Jim reached out his hand to caress the cat, "Let me think of something."

* * *

**And here you have witnessed the birth of the world's only consulting criminal.**


	12. But the night was young and so were we

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Title of this chapter is taken from Vaya Con Dios' _Nah Neh Nah._  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: But the night was young and so were we**

Jim spent the following weeks watching Carl Powers and learning everything about his life. He had known about the drunken father before. But apparently, Sorcha had been mistaken about him beating Carl up, because Carl never showed any sign of abuse. His mother, the school nurse, was a cold woman, very much like her son. The drunken father, Jim discovered, was working in London in a swimming bath as the bath attendant. Apparently, the love for swimming ran in the family. Because Carl took it very seriously. He was practising every day, at least three hours, on weekends even more. And this was where Jim was going to get him. The pool was the best possibility, because it was where Carl spent most of his time.

The _where_ was decided. The _when _and_ how_ then were only a question of imagination. Jim spent most of his lunch breaks now close to the pool, watching, absorbing information. The water in the pool was changed twice a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays. He chose a Tuesday, because he didn't want others to be harmed. At least not too many. And the _how_… Chlorine. It would look like an accident. The double amount should do. Distracting the janitor was easy enough. When Jim explained his plan to Sorcha, she volunteered. What exactly she did so that the janitor was occupied for more than half an hour Jim didn't know, and, frankly, he didn't care much.

The sight of Carl Powers on the following Wednesday was repulsive. Rash all over his face except for his eyes, since he had worn goggles, and deep scratches all over his arms. And there promised to be more, since he couldn't keep himself from scratching. His mother made a big fuzz about it, screaming at the janitor for injuring her baby boy like this.

* * *

On Wednesday evening, Jim was invited by the Morans for dinner. The official reason was that Jim's parents were out, but of course Sorcha and Sebastian wanted to celebrate with him. Brook had actually let him go; since Jim had been an awful good boy those last weeks, he figured he could keep him more controlled if he let him off the leash from time to time. And the influence the Morans had on him seemed good enough.

And Jim enjoyed the evening: it was nothing special, but it was a family, something Jim had missed for quite a long time now. There was the prayer before dinner, everybody told everybody what they'd been doing all day and when the soup was served, there was a loud cheer for the cook. Jim even caught himself wishing that one day he could have a family like that.

After dinner though, everybody went separate ways: Sebastian went out for a run (not even being beaten like that could stop him...), Mr and Mrs Moran to the theatre. "Hamlet," Sorcha said, "_Alas, poor Yorick…_ What a fun way to end an evening."

"I thought you liked Shakespeare?"

"I like liquorice too, but that doesn't mean I want to eat it all evening. Well, at least they are out of the house now. We're all alone now. Oh, the things we could do…"

"Like what you and the janitor did?" He couldn't help but feel a bit of jealousy. Not because he had suddenly started feeling a thing for her. Mainly because he was a bit… disappointed at how fast she had gotten over him.

She looked puzzled, "Why would I spend a perfectly fine evening talking pipes?"

"You talked pipes? For thirty minutes?"

"Sure. Once you get him to talk… whoa, wait a second, you didn't think I was…? That's disgusting."

He had to grin, "Sorry I even thought of a thing like that. Of course you're a good girl."

"I just helped you hurting Carl Powers. I'm not a good girl anymore. I've been broken in now. Now we can rule the world."

"True. We should celebrate that. How about ice cream?"

"It's winter. It's cold. How about tea?"

"Well, I'm surprised you find it cold, since you are standing barefoot on the balcony…"

"Well, I am sensual." She smiled at him. "After all I just had sex with the janitor. Please tell me you at least pictured me naked."

"All the way through. Would you have done it?"

She looked at him, then shook her head, "No. I don't think so. And if, I wouldn't have thought of him during it."

"But of me?" She nodded. Jim sighed, "I don't know if I should really be flattered."

"Oh, be flattered."

"Okay, if you say so, who am I to object." He looked into the night, wondering if… but then he asked, "Did you ever… you know?"

"… had some fun with the boys? With Sebastian watching over me like he does? No. You?"

"Neither, no."

"Sebastian isn't here now, you know? And you wanted to celebrate."

"Sorcha, I told you…"

"Yeah, you told me, I know. But that doesn't change the fact that I would totally have you do me in my bed upstairs."

Jim had to grin, "You are a total ego boost." Then he let his eyes wander over her body. He was just a boy, after all, and Sorcha was rather pretty. Could he? Would he? "It would change a lot, between us."

"There is nothing between us. You made that pretty clear."

"And still you want this? Isn't that a bit like… I don't know, voluntarily driving a knife straight through your heart?"

She rolled her eyes, "And I thought _Romeo and Juliet _was drama. But well, since you obviously don't feel enough to fall in love with me and feel way too much to just ignore my feelings, I suggest we leave it at that and have a tea." She turned on her heel.

Jim didn't even look at her when his hand wrapped itself around her upper arm and pulled her back towards him. He pinned her between his body and the rail of the balcony and whispered into her ear, "Why do you want this so badly? Why do you want us so badly? It's never going to happen, so why do you want me to do this?"

"Because I am in love with you, Jim. And people in love do stupid things. I know I will regret this, because it will only draw me more towards you, but right now, this is the only thing I can think of."

"And later? What then?"

"Who cares?" she whispered back. "Why would you care, since you don't care at all?"

He added some more pressure, "Because I have seen what love can do to people. My mother is still in love with my father although he's been dead for so many years now. You have no idea what it is like, and I don't want to be the one breaking it to you."

"Then why are you still standing there and pushing up on me? And I can feel that you are… bothered."

"It's a natural reaction of a man's body; it really doesn't mean anything…" Of course he had felt it, too.

Sorcha just smiled at him, took his hand that had been holding the rail, and placed it on her hip, "Touch me, Jim. Give your body what it wants."

Jim took a deep breath; this was getting way out of hand. Speaking of hand… He ran his hand down Sorcha's leg, feeling the warmth of her body as his fingers touched her skin (because "never mind the cold, I'll wear a skirt anyways…") and thinking that she might have planned that all along. But his body wanted it. And she was brilliant at playing his body.

So he leaned in and kissed her.

* * *

She couldn't believe it. He kissed her. Oh, did it feel glorious! His lips were so soft, and he tasted of green tea and apples. And his smell… intoxicating. She felt his hand moving from her leg up her thigh, getting closer to where she wanted it. So she whispered against his lips, "We should move it to the bedroom, Jim. People may see us."

He broke the kiss, looked deep into her eyes and said, "No, no, Sorcha. You wanted it, you're getting it. Right here, right now." He moved his lips to her ear again, "And don't tell me you don't like it that way."

And when Sorcha looked back into his eyes, the Jim she had known was gone and had been replaced by an animal, ready to devour her in the best way possible. She had never stared into his soul like that before. The façade had dropped, the façade of a boy who took what people dealt at him without defending himself. Left was a boy who just waited for the right moment to strike back and burn everything around him, starting with her. And scary as it was, for the first time, she felt Jim opening up to her.

And so she opened up for him.

* * *

**Yeah. I know. But they are teenagers after all... **


	13. He was caught in the middle

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Title from this Chapter taken from Mike Oldfield's _Moonlight Shadow_.  
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**If you can't guess by the title: ugly stuff ahead. Proceed with caution.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: He was caught in the middle of a desperate fight**

Jim left soon after he was done. Not of course without giving Sorcha a last peck to the cheek, and showing her some appreciation when she sat on the floor, panting. He wasn't too sure if he was any good at this, first time and all, but at least she didn't seem to mind his touch too much after it, so that counted in his favour. And he had enjoyed it. He actually caught himself thinking they could repeat that again. Try things besides pounding her against the rail. But he would be gentle, of course. He had been gentle this night too. Night and nights hearing his mother scream out in pain had once made him swear to himself he would never do this to a woman. And while it had all been quite rough, with two inexperienced people trying to figure out how to do this, he was positive she wasn't too badly hurt. Which made him wonder why he even cared. It had been a while since he had last been bloodied up by Brook; was it possible that he somehow started to adapt to real life outside his basement? Able to feel for people? And if he was, was Sorcha the one he could feel for? Oh God, was he really getting a crush on her? Or was it just the hormones, which were of course now dancing through his body? He shook his head; there was no use thinking about it now. His body, in the happy state it was in currently, would probably tell him to marry her right away if he listened to it now. He would have to sleep over it. Approach the problem from a rational point of view.

* * *

Sorcha felt like hugging the world. She had dragged herself from the balcony to her room, legs trembling from exhaustion and pain. But it was a good pain. The pain that you had after a marathon. Limbs aching, but head in the clouds. She cuddled into her sheets and looked at the ceiling, unable to stop smiling. Oh, he was so delicious. Awkward, a bit, but so had she been. His touches lacked the grace they would have needed to send her over the edge, but he made up for it with the words he used, whispers and promises of pleasure and pain to come. He had a way with words. She would never forget that night. The night Jim Moriarty had taken her against the rail of the balcony and had made her see the stars. _Romeo and Julia_ was nothing against the real thing. The real thing was messier, dirtier, better.

The phone rang. Sorcha checked the clock. Sebastian had called earlier to tell her he would spend his night at some girl's, asking her why her voice was quavering like that and telling her to not wait up for him. That left Sorcha's parents, and she was sure Hamlet hadn't even died yet. If he died. Well, Yorick then. She debated for a while whether to pick up, since she was currently in no state to have a decent conversation, but then decided that nobody would want to have in-depth debates with her at that ungodly hour.

"Sorcha Moran?"

"Hello, Sorcha. This is Carl. How are you tonight?"

She frowned, "Carl? To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"

"Just some chit-chat. So, that was quite a show you and your boyfriend gave us there."

Sorcha gripped the phone harder, "You were there? You watched us?"

"Yeah. And I heard you. _Oh Jim… yes, right there… harder… come on… give it to me…_ Oh, if your parents knew what a slut their girl is. A slut who likes it rough."

"And now you want to blackmail me, or what? Well, rest assured, I really don't care if you're going to tell my parents." _Of course they will disown me. I will never be allowed to wear skirts again. They will lock me up until I'm ready to get married. _

"Oh no, no, no, no, no, no." Carl tutted. "I don't want anything from you. You repel me." He paused, "I am angry. I am really mad. I was talking to the janitor. He told me you were there with him almost the whole afternoon. You know, yesterday. When the extra chlorine ended up in the pool. You know Liz broke up with me? And is probably right now being shagged by your brother?"

"She broke up with you? That's bad…" Sorcha scoffed.

"SHE THOUGHT I WAS CONTAGIOUS!" Carl yelled. "But you, Moron, you will pay for this."

"What, you're gonna infect me, too?"

"No, Moron. I'm gonna hit you where it really hurts." There was a pause. "Really."

And then a pained scream. Sorcha almost dropped the phone, "Jim."

"_Exactly_. He is here with us. We are eight, he's alone. I don't have to tell you how this will end. We will trash him. I will break every rotten bone in his body. And you, you will have to listen. You will listen how I make your boyfriend scream, and beg me to stop. If you so much as move away from the phone, I will do things to him you wouldn't dare to dream of. I will put Jeremy on the phone. He will pop random questions to you at random moments to you so to assure you're listening. I'm sorry I'll have to ruin that night for you. I am sure that you would prefer lying in your bed now, savouring the smell of sex and the man who gave it to you."

"You are an utter bastard, Carl. Leave Jim alone."

"That, my dear, won't be possible, I'm afraid. Now, here's Jeremy for you. Enjoy the show, my love."

* * *

Jim was on his knees when Carl made the call to Sorcha. _Boyfriend. They had watched us having sex. Oh god, that's embarrassing._ They had jumped him when he had taken the shortcut through the park, knowing that otherwise he would be late, and he really didn't want to get in a fight with Brook. And they were so many. They had him down in an instant. Then they had dragged him towards the nearest phone booth. He had no idea what Carl's plan was, until Carl had spilled the beans to Sorcha on the phone. And now, as he was picked up, arms locked behind his back, he knew she would hear everything. The night was silent, cold, there was nothing that could muffle his screams. And Jim was sure he would scream. Scream his lungs out. But he wouldn't beg.

Soon he was on his knees again, after Carl had dealt a few powerful hits to his stomach. The guys that held him still kept his arms behind his back, but they didn't try to hold him upright. The blows were now dealt to his face, and after a few, his head felt like it had been cut off his spine, dangling from it and only held by his skin. _Blow. _His eye swelled shut. _Blow. _His other eye. _Blow. _Blood in his mouth. _Blow. _Blood from his nose. Staining the snow. _Blow. _A crack. Laughter. He was dragged to his feet again. Blows to his stomach again. _She's crying, Carl. _A knee to his guts. _Serves her just right. _A kick to his shin. To his other shin. The floor under his knees again. Freedom for his arms. Kicks into his ribs. To his back. His kidneys. His face. Oh Christ, it hurt. He curled himself into a ball, arms over his head, in vain attempt to protect himself. One of his hands, his left, was being pulled away from his face, and five deafening cracks were heard as each one of his fingers was broken. He screamed, whimpered, cried out in pain, it didn't matter anymore. He was past caring for his dignity. He only wanted the pain to stop.

And eventually, the beating stopped. He was being pulled back on his knees, in front of Carl. Carl's knuckles were bruised, Jim noticed. But he didn't seem to bother. Of course not.

Now he looked down at Jim, "Got anything to say for yourself, Moriarty? Maybe some words of comfort to your girlfriend?"

Jim's clouded mind knew he had two possibilities now. Beg, or break. He chose the latter, "At least she won't think I need quarantine." Another blow to his face. He spit something out. A tooth.

His head was pushed down, and Carl whispered, "You are still way too cocky for your own good, Moriarty. Now, I want you to lick my shoes. Or I'll feed them to you."

"Go fuck yourself, Powers."

"You must be suicidal, really. I could knock out every single one of your teeth in one kick." Carl was genuinely puzzled.

"I have somebody on the phone saying you should do it, Moriarty." Jeremy sing-songed.

Carl grinned and walked away, taking the receiver from Jeremy's hand, "Sorcha. Did you enjoy the show? Oh, there there, don't cry. How about you beg me to leave him alone? Really? Now, that's a nice offer if I ever heard one, but I wouldn't touch you even with gloves on. I think it's time we call it a night. I'm running out of change. If you want to find him, we're in the park. Better bring your first aid kit." He grinned as he hung up the receiver. "I give her ten minutes. Now, Jim, you have noticed we are eight. We can easily overpower her too. Would you really want that? Watching as we share her among us like a bag of crisps?"

_Bastards. _Jim thought. _They wouldn't. _And then there was the voice of his mother in his head, screaming in pain, while he was lying on the basement floor, arms tied with Brook's belt, unable to help her. _Mammy. No. No. _"If I… do it…" Oh God, when did talking ever hurt so much? "...will you leave her… alone?"

Carl laughed, "Of course. As I said, I wouldn't touch her even with gloves on. Unless pushed. Now, will you?"

Jim nodded.

* * *

**Still there?**


	14. Je l'aime à mourir

**I'm sorry, but I have to whine again. It's not like I am desperate for reviews, but come on guys, a little appreciation would be nice. Thanks to Expecto and Pumpkin for keeping reviewing all the way through, I really appreciate it, but there are more readers out there, and I feel you should review, too. Not only my stories, but all the stories you read. Imagine if there were no writers, what would you do, wait for 2013 to get more _Sherlock_? You can't be serious.  
**

**Disclaimer: see prologue. Title of this chapter is from Shakira's _Lo quiero a morir_**_**  
**_

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Je l'aime à mourir **

Sorcha didn't even bother dressing properly. She grabbed her coat, her keys, slipped her boots on and raced to the park. It was huge, but she knew where the phone booths were, so that narrowed the search.

When she arrived at the second one, she saw him. Curled into a ball, barely moving. She dashed by his side, "Jim? Jim, talk to me." No answer. She was hesitant to touch him, not knowing whether she would hurt him if she did. So, she took off her coat, spread it over his lifeless frame, and whispered, "I'll call an ambulance. I'll be right back." She was back a minute later. Panting, she tried to remember what her mother had told her. Recovery position. Most important thing. He mustn't choke. But good Lord, how was the position again? _Calm down. Calm down. Easy. It's easy. Breathe. Mouth downward. Chin upward. Stabilize him. Arms and legs. Easy. Stop being a pansy. _"Okay, Jim, I hope this doesn't hurt too much. I need to touch your face now. It's okay, I won't harm you." She took another breath and tried to bring his head into position. It was dark, so she couldn't see his face, but she felt the blood on her hands. "Oh, Jim… This bastard…" She ran the back of her index finger over his cheek, feeling the swelling. "I will kill him. I will kill him."

He suddenly stirred, "No… no… more…"

She placed a hand on his shoulder, "Jim, it's okay, you're safe now. Ambulance is on its way. You're safe."

He cracked an eye open, "Sor…a…ka…"

"Yes, it's me… Don't worry, Carl is gone." She leaned in, "I'm so sorry, Jim. It was my fault, because I wanted that revenge thing."

"That smell… much better… your coat…"

"What do you mean, much better?" Then she smelled it. _Urine_. Bastard. Fucking bastard. "I will kill him."

"I… will… my… mother… call…"

"I will call her as soon as I know where they'll bring you. Don't worry, Jim, I've got everything under control. Everything will be okay. I'll stay with you."

* * *

Sorcha called Jim's mother first thing when she was at the hospital. When the mother finally arrived, with a man following her, Sorcha was shocked at how worn out she looked, "Mrs Moriarty."

"Yes, that's me. Are you Miss Moran?"

"It's Mrs Brook." The man said. "And I am Marlon Brook." He reached out his hand, which Sorcha ignored.

"Sorcha, please. The doctor is looking after him. He'll be alright I'm sure."

"Was he conscious? Did he talk to you? What happened?"

"Jamie, please, don't make such a big fuss. I'm sure he had it coming."

Jamie Moriarty turned towards her husband, "He had it coming? Are you out of your mind? Nobody deserves being beaten up. Go. Leave. I don't want you here."

The man tilted his head, "Excuse me, I think I misunderst…"

"No, you didn't. This is my son we're talking about, and you put it like he was some sort of scum. I am sick of you! I should have said it much earlier, but I was afraid. I am not anymore! It's because of you we had to move here, and because we live here, my son was beaten up so badly that he had to be admitted to a hospital! I am done with you, Marlon! Now go!" She shook her head, "I will leave tomorrow first thing in the morning. No, you know what, I'm leaving right now. Now GO!" She actually shoved him. A lioness protecting her cub. Sorcha watched the exchange, fascinated. She had not expected this. "LEAVE!"

Brook's fist tightened. Sorcha muttered, "My father is on his way. He's a retired soldier. And my brother. A boxer. Are you sure you really want to do this?"

He turned to her, "Who asked for your opinion anyways?"

"Mrs _Moriarty_ wants you to leave. You better do what she wants. I have a loud voice. I can scream. Everybody will come."

He looked at her, but then whispered to his wife, "This isn't over, Jamie…" But he left.

Jamie was trembling, but Sorcha could not tell whether it was fear or adrenaline. She turned to Sorcha, eyes wide open, "Who did this to Jim? What did they do to my baby?"

Sorcha shook her head, "Mrs Moriarty, it's more appropriate if Jim tells you. But please, don't… he looks bad. He really does. Just… be prepared. I'll better leave now."

"Your parents must be waiting. I cannot thank you enough for what you've done for Jim. All of it… I'm sorry to bother you, but, could you bring me a coffee?"

"Of course. No, it's on me." She said when Jamie took out her wallet.

"No, please, you have done enough. Here…" She handed a 5 pound note to her.

But Sorcha's look was focused on the picture in the wallet, "Is that Jim's father?"

"Yes…" Jamie looked at the picture and started smiling immediately. "The only picture I have of him. I had to hide it from Marlon. Even Jim doesn't know I still have it." She took the picture out and handed it to Sorcha.

Even without hair, it was unreal how much Jim looked like his father. Sorcha whispered, "They could be twins."

"Yes, indeed." Jamie was still smiling, although it was a weak smile. "Jim is actually a handsome boy. Of course Marlon had to ruin it… I can't believe I let all of this happen to him. And he was brave, so brave. Never uttered a word of complaint. Always trying to protect me, even at the cost of his health. Like his father. Did Jim ever tell you how Sean and I met?" Sorcha shook her head. "Well, maybe some other time. I'm sure you want to head home…"

Sorcha actually had to get home. But she knew that it would still be some time before the doctor could see Jim's mother, and if she could distract her until then… The waiting was the worst. So she shook her head and said, "My parents are at the theatre, watching _Hamlet_ and probably having a glass of wine at some pub later. I would be alone at home. And I would love to hear more about Jim's family."

* * *

It was close to 11 P.M. when the doctor finally came, "Mrs Moriarty?"

Jamie got up, "That's me. My son…"

"He will be okay, Mrs Moriarty. He took a severe beating, but his Guardian Angel worked some over-time tonight. No internal injuries." He scratched his head, "He has a concussion, so he needs rest. He lost a molar, his nose is broken, as are the fingers on his left hand. Some cracked ribs. It's a miracle nothing else happened. We will keep him here for tonight, and tomorrow, we will perform the surgery. I am positive he will fully recover. At least physically…"

"What do you mean?" Jamie's voice was steady. She had gotten so used to violence.

"He won't talk. But he smelled of urine when he got here. I…" he seemed to weigh his words, "I believe that the beating wasn't the only thing he had to take tonight."

Jamie nodded, "I understand. He will talk to me."

"I hope. Things like these… well, you may see him now. But remember, he needs rest. Good-bye, Mrs Moriarty." He gave her a last smile and left.

Jamie turned to Sorcha, "I have kept you here long enough, Sorcha. It's time you go home." She reached into her purse, "Please, take this money and hail a cab. I don't want you to walk home alone."

Sorcha wanted to refuse at first, but then she took the money, "Thank you. Don't worry about me."

"You have been a great help tonight. I would have gone insane with the waiting…" She smiled a bit, "I am glad Jim has friends like you. I feared he would be all alone. You're a good girl."

Sorcha blushed, "That means a lot to me. Tell him to get better soon. Good night."

"Good night, Sorcha."


	15. Conoce bien cada guerra

**Wow, ladies and gents, thank you so much for your reviews. No further delay.  
**

**Disclaimer: See prologue. Chapter title is again from Shakira's _lo quiero a morir. _This time from the Spanish part.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: ****Conoce bien cada guerra, cada herida, cada ser...**

Jim had dozed off when his mother entered. Jamie sat down on a chair at his bedside and waited patiently. The pain didn't let Jim sleep for long, so after approximately twenty minutes, he moaned and opened his eyes. "Mammy?"

"I'm here, sweetheart." She leaned in. "How are you feeling?"

"I… had… better days…"

"It's okay, now, sweetheart. The doctors will take good care of you. You'll just need to rest now. You need to be brave tomorrow, when they will perform surgery on your fingers. But then I will take you home."

"Don't… want… to go… home… Brook…"

She smiled, "Don't worry. We will leave. I will go home later and pack our things, and then we will leave. Sean Wright told me he will take us in. Both. You impressed him. I think he plans for you to join police." She whispered, "We will never go back to Marlon. I promise."

"Really?" There was hope in his strained voice. "Never?"

"No, my guaguito." She planted a kiss on his front. "Never. I'm sorry it took me so long, but the way he acted tonight… But let's not talk about him. Who did this to you?"

"Some… guys… don't know… I'm so tired…"

"Then go back to sleep, my darling. When you wake up, everything will be better. I swear."

"Sounds… wonderf…"

Only then Jamie's smile faded. She had kept her brave face up, but her baby boy looked so damaged… _His Guardian Angel worked some over-time tonight_… She remembered the doctor's words. She would have to go to church again. Marlon never wanted her to go. But she was a catholic, and she believed in God. God had sent two of his angels her way. He had taken one from her again, but _God hath never burdened any soul beyond its powers_. And Jamie had forgotten the power inside of her. It had taken this brutal beating of the only thing that mattered to her to remind her how strong she was, but now that she remembered, she would protect her son again. Nobody would ever get to him again.

She got up, whispered, "I'll be back when you wake up. I'll be down at the chapel, light a candle and thank your Da for his protection tonight, and then I'll go get our stuff. I see you tomorrow, _hijo de rey_." She pecked him on his swollen cheek again and left.

* * *

Jim spent the following night in Nirvana. When he woke up after the surgery, he didn't even remember being put to sleep by the anaesthetic; he only hope he didn't tell him or her too much crap. His mother wasn't there. Nobody was there. He propped himself upright under a lot of hissing and reached out for the telephone and dialled his number. Nobody picked up. Maybe she was in the chapel? Jim licked his lips, nervously. Something had happened. He could feel it. Good lord. Did Brook beat her up again? Of course he would. He loved her, and he wanted to own her, and there was no way he would just let her leave. His fingers hovered over the telephone. He needed to find out, but there was no way they would release him anytime soon. So he dialled another number.

" 's Seb."

"Sebastian, it's Jim. Is Sorcha at home?"

"Nope, she's in school. She'll come by to see you later though, bringing you homework. Why, you need something else?"

"No… why aren't you at school?"

"I'm exhausted. I've spend my night at Liz's. Hungry girl." He chuckled. "So, anything else?"

_Sebastian. Tall. Strong. Better choice than Sorcha. _"I really don't want to impose, but I'm worried. My mother told me she would be here when I wake up, and she isn't, and she and my stepdad had a fight, she wants to leave, and he is a bastard, and I am really worried…"

"You want me to go and check?"

"If it's not too much to ask…"

"Of course not. After all, I owe you one. I thought of drowning Powers, but this is just as good. I'll call you back later."

"Thank you, Sebastian."

"You're welcome."

* * *

Sebastian immediately got dressed and left. He knew where Jim lived and went there. Sorcha had told him last night that Jim's stepfather was rather a bastard. She hadn't gone into details, but Sebastian had an idea of what was happening in the Moriarty household. He wasn't afraid. Some scum that beat up women and children was not man enough to take on Sebastian Moran. He took a bat with him, just in case. If Jim's mother showed as much as a single bruise, he would smash Brook's head in. With delight.

There were no cars in the street. Of course, it was close to lunch hour, and Jim's stepfather was probably at work. He went up the stairs to the front door and knocked, "Mrs Moriarty? Are you there? This is Sebastian Moran." No answer. She was probably at the hospital. He turned away from the door.

A man was watching him, "D'you want to rob the house?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes. Nosy neighbours. "No, sir, I wanted to beat up the owner. You wouldn't know where is right now?"

"At work, I guess. It's what honourable people do." He scanned Sebastian. "You don't seem to have a job if you have the time to lurk around here with a bat. But at least there's some spirit in you. You look like a real man. Other than that Brook kid. Marlon does well in trying to beat some strength into him. Society is going down, if you ask me. Young boys looking like girls and acting as such, women trying to go and work… Next thing you know my own daughter will want to marry a coloured boy. But Marlon, you know, he still values tradition. Has his woman under his thumb." He crossed his arms before his chest. "I will tell him you were here, you know."

Sebastian smiled, "Please. I beg you to. And tell him where he can find me." He ran his fingers over the bat, "I'll be waiting for him."

"You make me laugh, son. As if you could possibly take him on. But well, he'll have time for you tonight. I guess he beat any thought of revolution out of his woman this morning. Good day, sir." He gave Sebastian a last look and went away.

And oh, Sebastian was angry. He had been brought up in a family where women were respected (and feared. His mother had a perfect aim with any newspaper, and his sister was known to break ear-drums if she started screaming). He had been taught to respect every living creature on this planet. But really, people like Brook and this man, they didn't deserve respect.

He turned back to watch the house. _I guess he beat any thought of revolution out of his woman this morning_. Jim had told him on the phone his mother wanted to leave her husband. Had he hurt her? Sebastian looked at his bat, then back at the door. He would go in and check.

He walked around the house and found the bathroom window open. He slipped off his shoes and climbed in. If Brook was at home, he wanted the element of surprise on his side. He opened the door, slowly, and walked into the hall. _Silence_. He was being silly. She was at the hospital, of course she was. He would leave again. If somebody came in now, discovering him here, with a bat in his hand and barefoot, he would have some explaining to do. He had known Jim would get him and Sorcha into trouble. He walked down the stairs to the front door. As he opened it, he turned around one last time for good measure. And then he saw it.

"Shite." He dashed into the kitchen, throwing himself to the ground next to the lifeless body on the floor. "Mrs Moriarty? Can you hear me?" He shook her, gently. No response. "Shite. Shite. Shite." He placed his fingers on her neck. No pulse. "No, no, no…" He raced into the living room, looking for the phone. When he found it, he called an ambulance and police. Fuck the trouble he would get into for being here. He opened the front door and dashed back to the body, trying to remember the basics of his first aid class. _CPR._ He performed it, getting more desperate with every time his attempts at bringing her back failed. Finally, when he heard the sirens of the ambulance, he gave up and moved away, giving the paramedics enough room. He leaned against the wall, unable of looking away. He wasn't even properly focused. He watched as they performed more CPR, catching words like _hit her head on the table, head wound, tragic accident… _Accident? No. He must have shoved her. Oh God, how was he going to explain this to Jim?

* * *

He walked back to the phone and called the school, telling the secretary that he needed to speak to his sister. When Sorcha finally was on the phone, she said, "I hope this is important, I am totally missing the climax of _A_ _Valediction: Forbidding Mourning._"

"Jim's mother is dead. I don't know how I should tell him."

Silence. "You have to be kidding me, Sebastian…"

"I am not." He told her what happened. "Sorcha, I don't know what to do. He will be devastated. At the very least. I'm not sure I can handle this."

"You cannot let the police do it. It needs to be you."

"You're right. Oh God… I cannot believe it."

"I'll try to get out of here soon."

"No, stay there. I'll do it. Stay there and study. Bye, little sister."

"Thank you, Bastian."

* * *

**Oops. Don't hate me. **


	16. There's a fire starting in my heart

**Disclaimer: See prologue. Title of this chapter taken from Adele's _Set fire to the rain._**

And fuck you, he won a BAFTA! I'm a proud member of the "lovely lunatics". Congrats, Andrew Scott. You deserved it.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: There's a fire starting in my heart**

The week passed in a blur for Jim. After Sebastian had told him what had happened, he had turned his back to him, blocking out everything. The doctors released him two days later, and he went home, locking himself up in the basement, all without saying a word. Brook was there, too, accepting expressions of sympathy from the neighbours and flowers, but Jim didn't even react. He was dead inside. The only person that had mattered to him was gone. All those people, they hadn't known her. And Brook, acting like the mourned widower, it drove him up the walls. But he didn't say anything.

He only got out of the basement the day of the funeral. It was a sunny day, but it was chilly, and the snow didn't melt. When he arrived at the cemetery, he noticed the Moran family. They were standing away from the crowd. Jim joined them immediately; he had no desire to stand together with all the liars who pretended to be sad, and he feared that if he had to stand too close to Brook he would probably freak out hearing his lies.

"Thank you for coming." He whispered. The first words he had uttered in days.

Jade Moran nodded, "Of course. We are so sorry for your loss, Jim."

Jim nodded and turned to Sebastian, "Thank you for finding her. For staying with her. For telling me."

Sebastian shook his head, "Don't. It was the least I could do. I am sorry, Jim. I really am."

Mr Moran said, "Jim, if there is anything we can do for you… If you don't want to stay in the same house with him… You can stay with us. Until you know what you're gonna do."

"I know what I'm gonna do, sir." Oh, he knew it. But those weren't the things you thought of at a funeral. "But I appreciate the offer." He turned the Sorcha. The only one that hadn't said anything yet. "I don't think I can do this alone. Go back there. Face him."

She moved to stand by his side immediately, "Who says you have to? I'll go back there with you."

"Thank you." He laid his arm around her waist as they walked back to the grave plot. He hadn't cried, nor wailed, but right now, as he knew these were the last moments in which he would ever see his mother, he needed something to hold on to. And besides, it couldn't hurt to let Brook know that his bonds with the Moran family were strong. That they would stand behind him if he tried something. Because Jim wasn't too sure how safe he was now.

Sorcha played the part well. Of course she knew that Jim still had no intention of becoming her boyfriend. God knew he had other things on his mind now. But if he wanted to prove a point to Brook, she would happily help him.

* * *

After the funeral, Brook went with some of his friends for a drink. Of course he was mourning. He had loved Jamie dearly; but she needed to be shown who was king of the castle. Leaving him? No way. Of course he hadn't planned on this. But for the first time ever, Jamie had defended herself. Of course, Jim was in safe hands, so she didn't have to fear for him. She had slapped him. Bad, really. Kicked him even. Then she had walked away. He had followed her, caught her, shoved her into the kitchen. The woman disobeyed him… He had grabbed her arm, pushing her to the ground. She hit her head during it and sunk down. He had tried her pulse, found it present. So he had decided to leave, go to work, let her recover. Who could have known she would die? Thank God he hadn't handcuffed her to the table, now, that would've raised questions. He had just counted on her waking up, remembering her place, and stop this nonsense.

And now, she was dead. Sad, but things like these happened. But at least police and paramedics treated it as an accident. The spilled water on the floor… she must have slipped. Tragic. Unnecessary.

It was already dark when he arrived back home. Jim was certainly in the basement.

Only Jim wasn't. He was sitting in the living room, still dressed in the suit he had been wearing to the funeral. "Hello, Marlon."

"Jim. What are you doing here?"

"I am here for some chitchat."

Brook took a step back, involuntarily. Something was wrong with the boy. His eyes. There was madness in his eyes. "I don't want to chat with you."

"I can see that. But I will talk. And you will listen…" Jim leaned back. "I have nowhere to go. You know that. So I will stay here. And you will leave me alone. If you don't, I will tell the police what you have done. That you killed my mother…"

"Nobody will believe you. It was an accident."

"Of course. But will they still believe you when I show them all the scars I have, thanks to you? All the stories I can tell them? I'm a kid, they will believe me. I have proof. Besides, my mother's lover… yeah, she had a lover… well, he knows what you have done to her. And to me. He will believe me. And he's a police man. Do the math." He got up. "You destroyed my life. There is nothing you can do to me anymore. But there are a lot of things I can do to you. I can take your life, piece by piece. But it wouldn't do me any good now." He smiled. "And if you plan on doing something final… you have seen my girlfriend today. She knows everything. If you kill me, she will go to the police and tell them about you. Even if you make it look like an accident again."

"I could make it look like a suicide…"

"Oh yeah, you could, of course. _Poor young boy kills himself after losing his mother_. You might even get away with it. But my Sorcha will always know. She knows I have no intention to kill myself. And she will make all the necessary arrangements. You will die. A most horrible death. It would be a lot less effort if you just accept that I'll be around for some more time. Don't worry, only until I found a job so that I can afford my own place…" He walked up to Brook, tilting his head backwards so he could look him in the eyes. "I have nothing left but my own life. But not only did you take everything from me. You created something in me. Hatred. And now you will reap what you sowed. Good night to you." He didn't turn around, but he noticed nevertheless Brook wasn't moving.

* * *

Of course he had no intention of letting Brook live. He would kill him. He had told his mother he would. And he would fulfil that promise. Killing her murderer. But he was sure he would never inherit the house if Brook died, and he would not impose on the Morans by staying at their place. So he had to wait. And besides, there was someone else who apparently wanted to die an untimely death.

Carl Powers.

He would be the first to go.

Because if Carl hadn't trashed Sebastian, they would have never plotted that revenge. Carl would have never beaten Jim up, his mother wouldn't have decided that it was time to leave Brook, and she would be alive now. It was time Carl Powers met his maker. And it would be by Jim's hand.

The _How_ was the problem. Where he would do it was clear. The pool where Carl's father worked. As fate would have it, the next big competitions would be held in London, at that exact pool. Jim's mother had to see her son being beaten, being humiliated. It was only fair that Carl's father got a taste of it, too. Even if Carl wouldn't be around to see it. But how, _how_? Something that couldn't be traced back to him. An accident. If Carl only had a car. No… that would be obvious. He needed something else. A poison. A bacteria. Aeromonas hydrophilia would be great. Watch as his body gets devoured by the bacteria. No, no, where would Jim get those from? He needed something he could get easily…

Then it hit him. _Botox_. Botulinum toxin. A few weeks ago in Biology, the teacher had told them all about it. Only recently it had been proven that Botox could be used to treat wrinkles in women who refused to get old. Right now there was an on-going study in the hospital; Jim had heard the doctors talking about it when he was there. And it was used for curing strabismus, so the hospital was bound to have it on stock there. Jim felt his hands trembling. This was it. The solution. It was easy, so easy. He would just have to break into the hospital and get the stuff. And then he would think of a way to inject it into Carl, before the competition. Getting it would be no problem; the nurses in the hospital were careless enough. He would just need the right moment. And after that, he could think of a way to get the toxin into Carl's bloodstream. Easy peasy.

He started smiling.

* * *

And fuck you, he won a BAFTA!


	17. You've been hit by a smooth criminal

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Title from this chapter taken from Michael Jackson's _Smooth Criminal_.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: You've been hit by a smooth criminal**

Getting his hands on the Botox was even easier than he thought. He went there in the middle of the day, carrying a bunch of flowers for the nurses who had taken such good care of him. They loved him there, and they had been absolutely sweet to him when they heard his mother had died. So they didn't wonder about the flowers, they just thought he was a considerate young boy.

And then an emergency came in, and all hell broke loose. On a Sunday, where there weren't many nurses around, and most of them tired, they were even more careless than usually. The cabinet wide open. Jim was fast, and a minute later, he left the hospital again, fingers clutched around an ampulla of botulinum toxin and a syringe. The first step had been taken.

* * *

The second step also proved easier than Jim could have foreseen it. Thanks to Sebastian Moran. Sebastian was going to the competition, too, as a back-up if something unforeseen should happen to Carl. Sebastian, ever one to use any chance he could get, nicked Powers's bag and threw it into the trashcan next to the school. Jim found it and rummaged through it, trying to figure out where the poison would have the biggest effect. And then he found it. The eczema crème. Carl was still suffering from the aftermath of Jim's chlorine attack. Of course, the idiot kept scratching. Jim had noticed that apparently Carl's feet were still itching. Of course. With feet sweating like they do in trainers… Carl kept rubbing his shoes one against the other, he kept scratching his ankles with a pencil... idiot. How was it supposed to heal, then. Jim smiled, looked around to see if the air was clear, and then pulled out the syringe. "Break a leg, Carl." And then he injected it, not even having second thoughts for a nanosecond. His mother's death, he could trace it back to Carl. He deserved to die. He put the eczema ointment back into the bag. He then placed the bag next to the bus that was supposed to pick them up, later.

He ran into Sorcha on his way back, "Hullo. Ready for the competition?"

"I don't know why I have to go there. Sitting at a pool, where everything smells of chlorine, and if Seb happens to start and win, he'll throw me into the pool for celebrations."

"You don't think Carl will win?"

She sighed, "There's no competition for him. Of course he will win. Aw, well, I hope he swallows some water though. Chlorine apparently only smells when it comes into contact with urine, so…" She grinned a nasty grin, but then looked at Jim, "How are you coping?"

Jim shrugged, "Not well. But I don't have a choice, have I?"

"Not really, no. Listen, you know you can stay at our place if Brook gives you a hard time. We will all testify to what he has done to you."

Jim shook his head, "Don't worry. He leaves me alone. Thank you, by the way. For coming with me to the grave. He thinks you're my girlfriend now, and that you know everything, so that if something happens to me… You're my insurance."

"I preferred when you called me girlfriend just a few seconds ago, but I guess insurance is just as good." She smiled. "Listen, would you like to come along today? We have a free seat in the car because Seb's taking the bus with the team. I really don't want to be alone there, pretending I even care about the result. We could sit together, eat sandwiches and mock Carl's ugly, infected feet."

It was tempting. Witnessing Carl dying. And it couldn't be traced back to him now, could it? "Yeah, sure. Anything to get my mind off… you know." He lowered his head and breathed in.

Sorcha hesitated, but then hugged Jim tightly, "Jim… You know I'm there for you, don't you? 24/7. If you need someone to… talk to… I'm there."

He let her hug him without reciprocating, "I know. Thank you. But I'll be alright. Come on, let's leave. We don't want to be late to see that git winning and showing off."

* * *

They sat down away from the Morans. They didn't necessarily need to hear the vulgar language Jim and Sorcha planned on using. Jim felt excited. Not long now. Not long. Soon he would be dead….

But when it finally happened, it was more glorious then Jim had thought it possible. Carl had made a spectacular head dive, and already after ten seconds, he was leading the field by far. It seemed like nothing could stop him.

And then suddenly, he started panicking. His slow, swift strokes became erratic. And his head went under water. And didn't come back up.

Sebastian was the first to notice something was wrong. Of course, he had seen Carl in training many times, and this was not his usual behaviour. It was only a split second before he was in the water, making his way to Carl, and dragging him back out. _He is not going to be the second one to die on me in a matter of two weeks! _he thought. But he was pushed away by the coach, who frantically tried CPR, and the paramedics that raced there, and Carl's father, screaming. Jim knew there was no point in even trying to save him. The toxin paralyzed his muscles. He had already stopped breathing, and there was nothing that could be done to bring him back. The paramedics tried and tried. For ten minutes. Then the leading man got up and shook his head.

Sorcha turned away from the scene and buried her head on Jim's shoulders. He laid his arm around her, and whispered, "Come, Sorcha. Let's get out of here." She only nodded. He guided her away from the crowd that had gathered, outside, and sat her down on the ground. "Can I leave you here alone for a second? I'm just gonna tell your parents we're outside." She nodded, her face buried in her hands.

Jim made a detour on the way back. Dressing rooms. Getting rid of the evidence. He emptied the ointment into the toilet and flushed, discarding the empty tube in the dustbin. Then he grabbed the trainers and hid them in his own bag. Nobody would ever know. An accident. It had gone so smoothly. Suddenly, he started shaking. He was a murderer. Sixteen years old, and he had killed a person. A git, sure, but a human being nevertheless. He took a deep breath. Did he regret it? _No_. Carl had it coming. Jim had stained his soul now, but it was a fair price to pay for the humiliation Jim had endured at Carl's hand. He opened his bag again and looked at the shoes. The shoes he had been forced to… He started laughing. Carl had laughed at him. Now Jim was the one laughing. And, oh, it felt good. He put his bag over his shoulder again and left the dressing rooms, careful that nobody saw him. Then he went back to Sorcha. _Killer_. _Murderer_. _You killed a teenager._ Who cared? And as he heard the wailing from inside, Carl's father, he felt a satisfaction he was sure he would never feel again. Oh, he wouldn't need to get a real job. He would go over to the dark side. They always paid well. He couldn't wait now, anymore. Brook had to die. Soon. He would start planning right now…

"Watch where you walking."

Jim raised his head; he had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the boy who had just gotten inside the building. Tall, black hair, green eyes. Arrogant sod. "I apologize. I was thinking."

"Yeah, better don't." The boy didn't give him any other look.

Jim shrugged and walked back to Sorcha.

* * *

When it was late evening, he was thinking for a second of going home. But this day called for a celebration. Of course, pubs were no option. He could have stayed with the Morans, but the mood there was gloomy. Apparently, though they hadn't liked Carl all that much, they were rather shocked. Apart from Sebastian. He seemed… detached. He made a sad face when people were talking to him, thanking him for trying, but when he thought nobody was watching him, he didn't seemed bothered. Not much, at least.

Anyways, there was no point in staying with the Morans tonight, and there was nothing going on, he decided to just walk through town, enjoy the chilly night. But not even after five minutes, he ran into Sean Wright, who was watching a pub. Jim vaguely remembered he had been at the funeral, even further away from the grave then the Morans, but staying when all the others were leaving.

Jim hesitated for a moment, but then walked over to him, "Late shift?"

Sean nodded, "Yeah. There's a football game going on. We're watching the supporters in the pub."

"Who's playing?"

"Manchester vs Liverpool. Tough game. You were at the Ireland game, weren't you?"

"Yah. Thank you for being at my mother's funeral."

"It was the least I could do." He licked his lip, "James, I know you probably don't think very highly of me. Because I… I visited your mother. But believe me, I never had anything else on my mind than just talking. I know it sounds silly, but I never wanted to… you know. I really liked her. I really wanted to get to know her better." He lowered his head, "You think it was Brook? That he shoved her?"

Jim shrugged, "You surely read the police report. What does it tell you?"

"A broken glass on the floor, water… according to the evidence, she slipped and hit her head."

"Did… did she show any signs of abuse?"

"Well, no recent ones. And my colleagues think that it happened _on the job._ You know, kinky role-play-games or so. I cannot tell them I know better, because they would take me off the case, and I want to investigate further. I need to give them a push into the right direction. You could help, you know? Your mother told me you have scars."

Jim chuckled, "More than I can count. But he will make sure nobody believes me."

"I believe you."

"You'll be the only one. He told me he has friends. That could make me an orphan if I tell people. Nobody can protect me. Or you." He had almost forgotten about what Brook had told him, that night in the basement. And, lord, he would not risk being killed before he had killed Brook. After that, who cared?

Sean Wright sighed, "Nothing I can do?"

Jim shook his head, "I know what you must think of me. That I didn't care enough about my mam to do this now. But still. It could have been an accident. There's nothing we can do to prove otherwise." He shrugged, "I'll better go home now. It's been a rough day."

"Has it?"

"Yeah. I was at the swimming competition in London. A school mate of mine died. Carl Powers."

"The kid who beat up your friend?"

"Yah. Cramp or so, I don't know. He just drowned. It was terrible." Jim shook his head, "I really appreciate your concern, though. But it would be better if you just… you know, stop investigating. Good night."

"Night, James."

* * *

**Oh mamma, mamma, mamma, I just shot a man down... (Rihanna, _Man Down_)**

**Btw, I have this story finished now, so there'll be no long waits anymore. Thanks for all the reviews. As the Swedish ESC winner put it, "It's not mine, it's ours".  
**


	18. Oh lord have mercy, now I am a criminal

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Title of this chapter is from Rihanna's _Man Down_.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: Oh lord have mercy, now I am a criminal**

_One down, one to go…_

But he waits. He waits because the feeling of having killed Carl Powers, the boy who humiliated him so much only a few weeks ago, is still so present, so glorious, that he wants to dwell in it. The whole school was shocked to hear that the boy they had counted so much on representing the country at the next Olympic Games had died a terrible death. Such a tragic accident. Accident. Nobody wondered. Jim was surprised how easy it had been. He had expected to be at least… questioned or something. But the fact neither he nor Sorcha had told anybody the truth about who had beaten Jim into a pulp had helped; nobody actually suspected Carl Powers of such a deed. Nobody traced it back to Jim.

So Jim waited. He gave his body time to heal. The cast around his fingers came off at some point, but he had still trouble moving them. Writing became sheer torture. His handwriting looked terrible. Even Sorcha had trouble deciphering it. But as time passed on, and the bruises on his face faded, his ribs healed and he got used to his missing tooth, he spent his nights in his basement, watching his fingers as he tried to move them, and thought of his next step. _Brook_. Marlon Brook had to die. He didn't care anymore about where he would go and live. Of course, people would want to make him live in some sort of… what where they called again? It didn't matter. He would disappear. Not immediately of course, that would raise suspicion. He would have to go through another funeral, pretending to be sad when he was cheering on the inside. Then there were all the formalities. But then he would leave, go back to Dublin… to do what? Nobody there cared for him; his grandparents would probably throw him out if he showed up there, the son of both their good-for-nothing children. He should probably kill them too, while he was at it. If they had done their parenting job properly, his father would probably still be alive. His mother definitely would be. They would live in Dublin, be happy, Jim would prepare for final exams and then take a job that would finally bring money into the house, and give his parents the life they deserved. But as it was, both were dead now, and Jim had nothing left. No place to go to. Well, he would rather die, starved out, on the streets than wait any longer. Every day Marlon Brook spent walking on this earth, Jim died a little more inside. It was about time it ended. And Jim would end it. And he would make sure Brook knew it was Jim who ended it.

* * *

So, three months after Carl had died, Jim figured it was time to off Brook. Again, he struggled at the _How._ With Carl it had been easy. Drowning him. Obvious. With Brook however… Oh how he would love beating him to death. But Brook was stronger than Jim, and Jim wasn't too sure he would win a face-to-face fight. Besides, his father had been beaten to death, and he would hate Brook to go down the same way. It felt like an insult to his father. But it needed something brutal. Something that had Brook suffer to his last breath. So many possibilities. Besides… it needed to look like an accident. Or… a suicide. Jim started chuckling. Brook had given him the idea. He would stage a suicide. Now, how do people kill themselves these days? Gun? Something inside him revolted at the thought of him forcing Brook to put a gun to his mouth and shoot. He didn't know why, but that was out of the question. And way too fast anyways. Slitting his wrists? Tempting. He would only have to put the body into the bathtub. But… no. No, it just didn't fit.

The final idea of how he would do it came from Sebastian Moran. Sorcha had been down with a light pneumonia, and though Jim knew it was close to impossible, he felt like he was somehow guilty. Half-naked Sorcha sitting in the snow next to him, cradling his head in her lap… She had been coughing for weeks now, but always dismissed it as "just a cold". Anyways, he brought her homework and news from school every other day, happy to have his mind taken off his mother for once. One day then, Sorcha had been sound asleep, so he sat down at the kitchen table with Sebastian. He noticed something was wrong immediately. He had seen the remnants of tears on Sorcha's cheeks when he had barged into her room. The parents were both gone and Sebastian sat at the table, gloomily.

Jim was hesitant, "You mind if I sit down for a while?"

"No. I'd love to talk to a sane person for once."

"What's the matter? Something's off, isn't it?"

Sebastian nodded, "I told my parents that I'll sign up for the military this year. We had a huge fight. Sorcha's been wailing worse than a slaughtered pig. My parents are at school now, talking to the headmaster, trying to find out what happened that I made such a decision."

"What happened, then?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes, "Nothing happened. Well, not nothing…" He shifted in his seat. "Two people died on me these past months. With your mother, I felt… sad, really. With Carl however… relieved. He was a bastard. Just out to hurt people. I… I can't take those things anymore. Violence against weaker ones. I couldn't save your mother. Maybe I can save other people. There's wars going on everywhere, innocent people die… I want to make a difference. But apparently, nobody approves."

Jim sighed, "I can imagine. It could be dangerous."

"Of course, but that doesn't mean I will die, does it? People survive, they're meant to be. I can survive. And help others survive. Do you know there are countries where people get hanged just because they're different? Women get stoned to death because men rape them and it's seen as adultery. Hanging and stoning, it should be reserved for real scum." _Hanging… _Jim's fingers tightened around his cuppa. He would make him hang himself. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth."

"Yeah sure… refuse parole, bring back the rope. I agree…" Jim murmured. "I approve of your decision. If it means anything to you."

Sebastian looked up, "I never really liked you, you know?"

"You didn't?"

"No. I knew you were trouble. From the first day on. And I was right. You have trouble knocking on your door every second. And my sister was drawn into it. Drawn to you. She's a silly girl, but she's emotional. Very strongly so. And she likes you. So, she's bound to get into trouble as well." He paused, "Do you know how many… _many_… nights she cried herself to sleep because you don't "love" her back? Many, I tell you. I should probably dip your head into the toilet for this. But the truth is, you did nothing to deserve it. You saved us both, multiple times, and this is why I never had the big-brother-talk to you. I owe you."

"No, you don't." Jim got up from his chair. "Truth is, I would probably be dead by now if it weren't for you and your sister. I'm sorry I can't love her back, and I told her I can't, so the fact she cries is not my fault. But if you feel like beating me up for it, go ahead, because it won't have any effect on me anymore. I'm sorry you don't like me, but I won't impose on you or your family anymore. I hope you can make that difference you want to make, and I will always be thankful for all of your support. Tell Sorcha to call Liz to bring the homework here. You won't be seeing me again."

Sebastian was a bit surprised by the outburst. But anything to get this guy away from his sister. He didn't know why, but he felt that Jim Moriarty had something to do with Carl Powers's death. And Sorcha, this silly little lovebird with no mind of her own would help Jim if he needed help. That must not happen. Still, him leaving like that? "Is that really the only thing you want me to tell her?"

Jim, who was already at the door, hesitated. It felt wrong, this being his last words to the girl who had without any second thoughts taken him into her heart. Crying for him. Moaning his name when he had her trapped between the rail of the balcony and his own body. "No. Tell her to not wait for me, cause I won't be coming back." And with that he left.

* * *

When he got home, Brook was lying on the couch, passed out. An empty bottle of whiskey next to him. Jim reacted on instinct. With all the strength he had, he dragged Brook down to the basement and threw him onto the mattress. He locked him up and went looking for something that could be used as a noose. Of course, nobody kept nooses around just like that. While he was rummaging, Jim found the belt that Brook had used to tie him up so many times. It would be poetic justice, but the belt just wasn't long enough. Damn restrictions. He sighed deeply and sat down next to the master bed. What the hell could he use? He should have planned this. But it was too tempting now. He couldn't stop anymore. No, it had to happen tonight. But it could only happen if he found something…

His eyes scanned the room. Nothing, nothing…

He walked through the house. Nothing, nothing…

Into the garden… Nothing, nothing…

Slitting his wrist was the better option….

He went back to the master bedroom. And then he saw it. Brook's nightstand. _Now, Jim, I have your mother tied to the bed this very instant. Little bit of a role-play-game. But she's completely at my mercy._ He walked, no, staggered to the nightstand, and opened it. And there it was. A rope. An actual rope. Not even something silky. A rope. And there was blood on it. His mother's, most probably. The fury almost choked him. _Bastard_. Poetic justice. He would have Marlon Brook hang himself with the very rope he had used to tie up his wife and rape her into submission. That was even better than having him hang himself with the belt. Jim smiled weakly. She would get justice. Not enough. But at least a bit.

Before he left, he also took the pair of handcuffs he had found. Just in case.


	19. So I ran to the Devil, it was waiting

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Title of this chapter is from Nina Simone's _Sinnerman._  
**

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**Chapter Eighteen: So I ran to the Devil, it was waiting**

Brook moaned as he woke up. Damn that cheap Irish whiskey. Next time, he would drink Scottish whisky again. Much better. He opened his eyes, slowly, against the bright lights. Then suddenly, they shot open. He wasn't on the couch as he had expected. He was… _the basement_. He screamed.

"No need to scream. As you pointed out to me, nobody can hear you here."

_Jim…_ He was sitting there, on a chair, half-naked, his feet resting on another chair. His hair… _Hair… I need to shear it off again. I have been lazy these past months… but then he has never been at home. _His hair was wet, slicked back. It had grown a lot during those past months. _Oh my head. _He wanted to bring his hand up to his face, but couldn't. When he checked, he found he was handcuffed. Hands behind his back. He screamed again.

"Scream all you like. I like hearing you scream. Makes a nice difference to hearing my mam. Remember, when you so kindly left the door open so many times so could hear what you were doing to her." He leaned back, casually. "I told you this would happen."

"Stop this nonsense and let me go."

Jim chuckled, "No… no no no no no. You will die tonight." He swallowed. "But there still some time left. Do you think you can write?" He pointed at the notepad and the pen. "Since you already thought you could make my death look like a suicide, I am sure you thought of what you wanted me to write in my final note. We wouldn't want to waste that; it must have been a nice change for you, using your head instead of your fist."

Brook laughed, "You think I will write my own suicide note? You must be bonkers."

Jim slipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a kitchen knife, "You will."

"Are you going to use that on me? That won't look like a suicide anymore then."

"I know. But then again, I don't care. You will die tonight. Now, there's the easy way, and the hard way. There always is, isn't there? Now, the easy way would be to just write that letter and then off yourself. The hard way, however, is that I cut you up. Cut your face first. I am top of my biology class. I know how to cut up things, you see. They like that about me, my teachers. Never thought it could be useful. But see, I don't care whether I am caught or not. Really, what do I have to lose?"

"Freedom. Future."

"No. You took both of that from me already. I have nothing to lose. It's your choice, really. Kill yourself, spare me the effort, or let me kill you, let me have the pleasure. But I have to tell you, I _won't_ be gentle. Which will it be, now, sir?"

Brook knew he had lost. James Moriarty was ready to give up his own life to see him destroyed. No. _To destroy him_. Handcuffed like this, there was no way to defend himself. He needed time. He needed time to find the right moment to overpower Jim. And then cut him up.

But Jim read his thoughts. "The door is locked. The key is hidden. You'll never find it. You'll starve to death. Much as I would like to see it… I don't have the time to stick around."

"If you want me to write that note, you'll have to undo my handcuffs."

"If you paid attention, you would notice that your left hand is tied to the pipe as well as to your other hand. If I undo the handcuff, you'll still be restricted. You might be able to throw a punch at me or two, but by then you would have my knife in your eye."

"You thought of everything…"

"Long hours tied in here do that to you. A shame you'll never find out, though. Now, which will it be?"

Brook lowered his head, defeated, "What do you want me to write?"

"There's a good boy." Jim got up from his chair and moved to Brook, the knife steady in his hand as he undid the cuff that held Brook's right wrist. He didn't make any move. "Now, I really don't care how you put it. Use that lovely brain of yours. It was so good in inventing all the torments you put my mam through, I'm sure you can manage a letter. Keep it brief and simple. You can't live without her."

"No confession?"

"No. If people knew what sort of a scumbag you are, they wouldn't believe you to be capable of feeling sad. You've played the grieving widower all those last months. I would hate to destroy that picture when it fits so wonderful into my plan…"

Brook continued writing, "You have changed, James."

"That's what people do. They change. I admit it went all rather fast in my case. But I guess it was just… boiling up inside me. You're done?" Brook nodded. "Let me read."

_I can't go on anymore. Those last months have been hell. I miss her so much. I want to be back with her. _

_Marlon Brook_

"Nice. People will love it." Jim packed the letter away and went to Brook to refasten the handcuff. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?" He then went back to the chair and picked up the rope. "Now, you can talk, things you want to get off your chest in those final moments while I make the noose."

"You know how to make a noose?"

"Of course." He chuckled. "My da comes from a fishing family. He knew how to tie all sorts of knots. People in Ireland know about these things. When I was young, we went to the nearest lake sometimes, when he wasn't working, and he taught me how to tie a strong knot. I guess he never thought it would be useful. It was just a way for us to pass time. A little game for me. I was quite good at it. Irony, isn't it? Something my da, the man you hated so much because my mam loved him so much, taught me, will lead to your death. I'm sure he would be proud. Well, maybe not, because he was a good man. But if he knew what you have done to my mam, if he was still alive, he would have killed you too, so I guess ultimately, I'm just… fulfilling his wish." He continued tying the noose, humming, "…Tell my wife I am trawling Atlantis, and I still have my hands on the wheel... (1)"

"Speaking of wife… what would your girlfriend say if she knew about this? You making me kill myself?"

"Sorcha?" He was half tempted to tell him she wasn't his girlfriend. But then again, why would he? He got up from the chair and turned his back to Brook. The scars from the belting he had received after the Ireland game still stood out against the pale skin, even months after the game. "She saw this. The day after you did it. She was the one taking care of it…" _Lie. _But hell, he wanted Brook to think, to know, that, despite the severe beatings Jim had received, there was still somebody who had loved him. Unconditionally_. _Because wasn't that what Brook had always intended? Destroy his life, making sure he had nobody? _Let him leave knowing it was all in vain. Even if it was true in the end. _"If anything, she would be happy if I decided to use my knife on you and skin you like salmon."

"You are insane…" Brook said.

"I guess so. But I was perfectly normal until you came along." He laughed. "Funny, isn't it? In the end you made me do this. Anyways, I'm done with the noose." He climbed up the chair and fastened to rope to the wooden beam. "I love making knots. You see, I decided to make the rope rather short. Wouldn't want you neck to break immediately." He heard a noise and turned around. Brook was sobbing now. "Oh come on, did it only occur to you now that I meant business all the time?"

"Please, Jim… please… I am so sorry for what I've done… I should've treated you better… Please… I will be good from now on…. Don't kill me…"

Jim suddenly felt angry. That son of a bitch. Now he was begging? He hopped off the chair, walked to his bound victim and knelt down before him, "Begging, aren't you? I'm sure my mam was begging you too, to leave her alone. I was begging you to leave her alone. You never did. How can you expect me to let you live now?"

Brook was crying now, "You're better than this... J-J-Jim…"

"I am better, yes. Because I take my wrath out on you. Not on women, not on children. On you. The one who is responsible. Now, try and be the man you always pretended to be. Of course, it's much easier when you're not the victim but can put other people down. It's time." Jim went back to the chair and placed it under the noose. Then he placed the second chair next to the first.

Brook was struggling when Jim came to loosen the belt- _the _belt- that had tied Brook's left arm to the pipe. He only stopped when Jim brought the knife up before his eye, pressing his right arm against Brook's throat, "I'll cut it out of your face, Brook. I swear…" The blade was so close to his eye he had to blink. "Now, will you be a good boy and climb up the chair?" Brook nodded. _Defeated_. "Good. I'll even steady you." He helped the bound man up on the chair and placed the noose around his neck, tightening it as he was standing on the second chair. He hopped off it again, nonchalantly, humming again. He brought the second chair outside, whistling. Trying to prolong those last terrifying moments on this planet for Brook.

But finally, it was time. He placed the sole of his foot on the edge of the chair and licked his lips, "I'm kinda sad this is going to be over soon. Any last words?"

Brook was still shaking, but he managed to get enough strength to his voice to say, "You will die young, James Moriarty. I'll be waiting for you. And by the great lord, I hope you will have a lot of pain and suffering coming your way until your dying day. Because whatever you say, you are still capable of suffering. And I hope you will. More than you have until now. I will see you in hell, Jim."

Jim's eyes turned to stone when he said, "The devil will be my bitch within the hour." And then he kicked the chair from underneath Brook's feet.

_Pastoral scene of the gallant South, the bulging eyes and the twisted mouth... _(2)

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(1) Billy Joel The Downeaster "Alexa"

(2) Billie Holiday Strange Fruit

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**What goes around comes around. **


	20. Još uvek te ljubim

**Disclaimer: see Prologue. Title of this chapter is from Marija Serifovic's _Molitva. _  
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**__I actually expected some more reviews for the last chapter. You all wanted to see him die, didn't you?  
**

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**Chapter Nineteen: Još uvek te ljubim, još uvek ti slepo verujem**

Jim watched him swinging for half an hour. He felt nothing. Nothing. Not even satisfaction. Not fear of how he would go on now. He had so hoped he would feel better after sending Brook to hell. But no. He felt like he had completed a task, nothing more. So he finally got up from the floor where he had been sitting and started getting rid of the evidence. The handcuffs. The belt. Nothing had left marks. It would be a suicide. Tomorrow, he would go down to the basement, discover the body, call police and be upset. And then come what may. He placed the chair under the body again so that it would look as if he had jumped and knocked over the chair while twitching and swinging. As he stopped in the doorframe and looked back at the piece of art he had created, however, he smiled. How perfect, how wonderfully perfect it looked. Nobody would get to him.

He was just preparing the living room- getting rid of the signs that Brook had drunk himself into oblivion; how would he have been able to tie a perfect noose if he was drunk out of his mind? – when the doorbell rang. That was unfortunate. But Jim was past caring. His fingers tightened (as well as they could) around the knife. If this was one of Brook's drinking bodies, he would die now.

But it was Sorcha. Jim let the knife sink, "What are you doing here?"

She looked at the knife, looked at him, "What is going on here?"

"Leave. Go. You're ill, you should be in bed." He closed the door again.

But she had put her foot in already. "Jim, what are you doing with the knife? Has he threatened you again?" She coughed. "If he has, come with me. You can stay at our place."

"No, he… for God's sake, come in." He put the knife away and guided her to the living room. Great, now he had an alibi. He was with Sorcha here while Brook had killed himself downstairs. Luck was on his side tonight. Unless Sorcha coughed herself to death here. "Sit down on the cough. I'll make you some tea. Green?"

"Please." She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. "You said you wouldn't come again. I couldn't… Listen, I slapped Sebastian."

Jim turned around, "Really?"

"Yeah. For saying all those nasty things to you. He doesn't know what it's like if you don't love someone, because to him love equals sex, and he loves sex. I just want you to know I am alright with this." She coughed again. "You don't have to stay out of our house just because you can't love me back."

"I know. But look at you. I tell your brother I won't stop by anymore and you leave and come here, even though you should be in bed. You really are a silly girl."

"There's no need to insult me." She looked actually hurt. "I'll just go home now, I think."

"Stay here and drink your tea." Jim ordered as he put the cup down on the table. "Seb will kill me if you start coughing up blood."

"Oh, it's always about Seb, isn't it? Where you expecting him, or why were you almost attacking me with a knife?"

"It's a dangerous city these days." He sat down next to her. "Look, I appreciate your concern, but Sebastian is right. I am trouble. You're much better off if you go look for somebody else to love. I sure don't deserve it."

"Who's to say that? You? I don't think so. Look, I might be totally high on my medicine, but I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Do you think so?" Jim went down on his knees and grabbed her wrists. "I actually didn't plan on telling you, but it seems to be the only way to get rid of you. Either way, really." He tightened his grip. "I killed Carl Powers. And downstairs, in the basement, you will find Marlon Brook swinging. Because I made him hang himself. Now, do you know what you're doing? Because I can go on like this. I don't even regret it properly. What makes you so sure you know what you're doing?" She was silent. "See. I told you so. Now, we have three possibilities. No, four actually. Number one: I kill you, here and now. Number Two: You rat me out to the police, and really, I couldn't care less. Number Three: You finally realize what sort of a person I am, a teenage killer, and you leave and never turn back, but keeping my secret because you love me oh-so-much. Number four: Because you are a silly girl, you will indulge in this Bonnie and Clyde fantasy and run away with me. What will it be, Sorcha Moran?"

"Don't call me silly." was the answer he got.

"That's your only problem?"

"I am not silly, Jim." She shrugged the blanket off. "You all think I am because I am young and inexperienced. I may be, and I may have this totally perverted version of what is romantic and not. But I know exactly how I feel about you. Just because you cannot understand or reciprocate doesn't make me silly, so stop saying things like these."

Jim scratched his head, "I just confessed two murders to you and threatened to kill you."

"You won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you could never hurt a woman." She lowered her head, "I don't know what to do now, Jim."

Jim watched her. She had a point. He could never hurt a woman. Not an innocent one, at least. "Will you tell the police?" She shook her head. "Why not?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. Because I feel safe you're not gonna hurt me even though I know now. Why would I want to destroy your life when I understand why you did it?"

"You do?"

"Yes. Maybe you're right. Maybe I am silly for not telling the police. But you… You have suffered so much. God, I was praying at night, hoping Brook would break his neck tripping down the stairs or something. I wanted him dead. Not by your hand of course, but…" She shrugged again. "I guess I knew that eventually you would snap. I thought of self-defence though, not of cold-blooded murder. And Carl? He hurt my brother. He hurt you. I prayed for him to be hurt." Suddenly, she giggled, "This is crazy. I pray for both of them to die, to God, you know, and you killed them both. We practically are Bonnie and Clyde."

Jim had to chuckle, too, "Yeah, somehow…" He let go of her wrists. There would be bruises, he noticed. "What will you do now?"

She started rocking back and forth as she thought of her situation, "I think I'll take number three."

"Leave and never turn back?"

"Yes. I think it's best for me. You don't need me. And I'm not sure I can cope with this."

"I wouldn't want you to." He got up. "Thank you for not ratting me out."

"Don't be silly. I mean, I love you."

Jim felt a pang in his heart, "You really do, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I am sorry. I really am. But you're right, it's better this way. Who knows how long I have left?"

She got up, "Long, Jim. You survived all of this. I'm sure you will carry on. Do you know what you will do now?"

"I have no idea, and even if I know, I wouldn't tell you. Forget me."

She nodded, "You're right. So long, James Moriarty."

"So long, Sorcha." He guided her to the door.

* * *

**Aw, sad. Well, this was the last chapter. But as always, there's an epilogue. **


	21. You know it's all right, it's okay

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Title of this chapter is taken from The Bee Gees's _Staying alive._  
**

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**Epilogue: You know it's all right, it's okay, I'll live to see another day**

Jim's eyes snapped open. He was still standing in 221C Baker Street. A smile appeared on his face. He had survived. It had been hard, but he had made it. Now the world was trembling at the sheer mention of his name. From the boy who killed to the man who ruled. Such a long way he had come. And he had never regretted it.

Mr Moran had died of a heart attack a few years ago. In silent nights, Jim often heard Sebastian crying, knowing it was his fault. His father had suffered the attack at the mention that his only son had been captured by the Taliban, probably never to return again. He never had to witness how his son was dishonourably discharged from the military. Most of the time Sebastian considered it as luck, that fate had taken the old man from him before he had to live through that shame.

Mrs Moran however had witnessed it. She was dead now, too. A car crash. Some old bitch a few years ago. Almost blind then, completely blind now. She should have never driven that vehicle. But Jim would take care of it. Soon. She was the third on his list. He had until now never hurt a woman. But the two on his list, they deserved it. And, to be fair, they had a good chance of surviving. The greatest man alive… well, the second-greatest man alive… would try to save them. He just hoped Sebastian had himself under control, that he wouldn't off his mother's killer before the twelve hours Jim had given Sherlock were over.

Sebastian Moran. The boy who never liked him. And now? Both trusted each other blindly. Jim knew Sebastian would die for him in a heartbeat. And he would do the same for the man, really. Sebastian was his closest associate now, the one who put every plan in motion. It had grown over the years, that trust, because Jim had, again, saved Sebastian when he was dying in the gutter, with no perspective in life but to slowly fade away. He had failed to save his reputation, failed to stop Charlie Milverton exposing the dark side of Sebastian Moran to the world. But he had given him another chance, and Sebastian had taken it and made the best out of it. Chief of Staff of the Moriarty Empire, the Number One shot in the country, his bodyguard and closest friend.

Closest? Well, almost. It left Sorcha. He still remembered the moment he had heard her voice again, on the phone, ten years after he left Brighton." _Jim, I need your help. _He had helped. Of course he had. And he had taken her into his team. The lawyer. The irony. Sorcha, the one who had let him walk even though she knew he was a murderer, had studied law at university, and now she was the one bending the laws as well as she could. Working for the government. Knowing all about their practices. Not high enough in the ranking to get to Mycroft Holmes, but a valuable insider nevertheless. She had access to all the cameras in the city and she heard and saw things. She was the intermediate between him and his clients. And she still loved him. All those years, and he had never been able to convince her that it was futile loving him. She just shook her head and shrugged whenever he mentioned it.

Jim smiled as he closed the door and reset the lock. _Sherlock, I am coming_.

His phone rang. He glanced at the display and rolled his eyes. _Women in love. So annoying. _"Hello, Molly dear. How have you been?"

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**And another baby grown. Thanks for reading and reviewing. **

******I have another story already in the making, a sequel to this, about how Jim rises to be what he is, but of course I don't know how many people would be interested in reading that...**  


******Anyways.  
**

******Love, fergie  
**


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